Just Out Of Time
by EnoughOfThisDance
Summary: Live Catch: If Bomber hadn't 'got there just in time'. First ever official Kate/Dutchy fic on FF. Warning: Contains scenes of violence and sexual assault. Heavy references to rape. Please note author pen name change - author is still the same.
1. Go, Bomber, Go!

**Tagline: Bomber - 'I got there just in time'**

**Spoilers for Season 4 Episode 14: 'Live Catch'**

**This chapter was rewritten a few days after I originally posted it, because the first version was rushed and off the top of my head. Since there seemed to be fair interest in it from readers, I decided to have a go at improving it to something more like my usual standard. Hope you all like it.**

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Bomber pounded angrily against the door with her fists. Her cheek still stung from the blow that bastard fisherman had dealt her, but right now she had much bigger problems on her mind. They had the XO, and could be doing god knows what to her at that very moment. Bomber squeezed her eyes shut, unable to block out the image of his face as he ordered that the X be taken away – and promised Bomber that she'd be next. The navy cook felt sick at the thought of what would happen if she didn't do something, but she and Two-Dads were locked in that stupid little store room and she had no idea how to get out. Again she pounded on the door . . . and paused at the sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor outside. Two-Dads heard it too, and they immediately pressed themselves back against the wall either side of the door. The door opened, and the navy sailors pounced. The fishermen yelled in surprise and anger as Bomber and Two-Dads slammed into them. The two teams struggled for a few moments, the fight barely more than a scuffle in the confined space, but for one glorious moment the navy pair had the upper hand. Bomber managed to squeeze past the other three as they grappled, and got to the door, and even as he lost the advantage Two-Dads called out to her.

"Go, Bomber, go!"

She didn't want to leave him, but it could well be their only chance. She slipped out past the door and made it halfway down the corridor before something yanked her back. One of the fishermen had made it out too, and had managed to grab her shirttails as he caught up with her. Bomber screamed furiously as his hand twisted painfully in her hair and forced her head back. She fell to her knees, clawing unsuccessfully at the man, and was dragged kicking and swearing back to the store room. After she'd left, Two-Dads had lost the fight, and was now lying in a heap on the floor with a crescent shaped cut around his eye and blood dripping from his nose. He groaned in pain as Bomber was tossed unceremoniously into the room to land half on top of him. She quickly rolled off, but the door slammed shut behind her before she could even get to her feet. The dismaying sound of the wooden bolt being rammed into place echoed down the corridor outside.

Bomber slammed herself against it and let rip an infuriated scream – there was no way they'd be able to save the X now. Anything could happen to her. Bomber gave the door one final frustrated kick, yelling obscenities at every man on the boat, while Two-Dads let out another pitiful moan behind her. She turned to attend to his injuries and winced sympathetically at the sight of him.

"My god, are you okay?"

"Yeah, you should see the other guys," he joked in typical Two-Dads fashion, "I had to keep 'em busy."

"Okay, alright . . . alright, let me have a look." She brushed his hands out of the way and gently felt his ribs for breaks. Finding something, she put gentle pressure on the spot with her thumb.

Two-Dads cried out and tried to roll away. "I thought you said _look_!"

"Sorry! Alright, I think you might have a broken rib. I'm sorry."

Bomber sat back on her heels, biting her lip in worry. The X was sick and helpless, and Two-Dads was in pain and immobilised. And there was nothing Bomber could do to help either of them.

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Meanwhile, in a small and dirty cabin in a quiet part of the ship, the man who had tried to assault Bomber on the other boat now had the X on a ratty bunk. Kate could hardly move, and her eyelids were so heavy she could barely open them. The man was perched next to her on the bunk, grinning down at her lecherously. There was a sadistic gleam in his eye as he unbuttoned her shirt, as though he was unwrapping a much anticipated gift and enjoying it immensely. He took in the sight of her with disgusting delight, torturously pawing at her breasts through her grey tee before letting his hands slid down to the fastening on her pants. Feeling him begin to unbutton them, Kate tried to push him away, but was too weak to do more than bat pathetically at his bald head. He reacted violently, seizing her wrists and pinning them down roughly either side of her head. He squeezed ferociously, enjoying holding her down. Making her helpless. Controlling her. He leaned low over her, pressing his face to her cheek so that her head lolled to the side.

"You struggle, and I hurt you, okay?" he purred. Kate's breathing picked up, fear seeping through the fog of sickness that clouded her mind. He lingered at her ear for a moment, breathing in the scent of her hair appreciatively before sitting back up and continuing to unbutton her pants.

Kate's head was spinning and she felt fiercely nauseous. She could scarcely feel the tatty mattress beneath her, feeling more like she was in a sickening freefall, her only anchor the groping hands of the man above her. But, sick as she was, Kate was completely aware of what was about to happen – what _was_ happening that very moment. Her limbs were leaden, her head rolling from side to side with each rough jerk he dealt her as he stripped away her uniform. She whimpered in distress as he yanked her pants down to her knees, some distant, foggy part of her brain hating the weakness of the sound. His thick, meaty fingers delved between her legs to fondle her through her panties, letting out a deep groan of pleasure as he did so. After a moment he was forced to release her to attack her boots, which would have to come off before her pants could.

The world tipped nauseatingly, and it was almost beyond Kate to stop herself from throwing up as she grew dizzier and dizzier. But Kate was not weak. Though physically drained and critically ill, the deepest, most primal part of her being was a fighter. She had to do _something_. She had to at least _try_ to stop him. She could not let herself be intimidated into giving up, no matter sleepy she felt or how difficult she was finding it to think coherently.

He'd finished with her boots and made quick work of her pants, stripping them inside out as he pulled them over her feet. As he reached for her panties with a wicked grin, she tried once again to swing a fist at him. But he caught her arm effortlessly, the tired limb having flopped ineffectually against his shoulder. She received a sharp backhand across the face for her effort, the blow making her see stars. Before she had time to recover his beefy hand had wrapped around her throat and was choking her. She gasped for air and gagged, her feeble attempts to loosen his grip only making him laugh. After several excruciatingly long seconds he let go, and she reflexively tried to roll away, sucking in a whooping gasp. He grabbed her hip, digging his fingers in brutally and forcing her back. She slumped back down, with all the fight wrung out of her. He tore at her panties, breathing heavily through his nose as his excitement built with the anticipation. Kate, overcome by hopelessness and defeat, could only squeeze her eyes shut and choke out faint sobs. Tears tricked from the corners of her eyes into the soft hair at her temples. He succeeded in ridding her of her panties and forced her legs apart, and Kate cried out feebly as he wormed a finger up into her. His free hand slithered up her thigh and under her t-shirt, suddenly gripping her breast hard enough to bruise. He filled his hand with her, squeezing callously then viciously pinching her nipple when she failed to respond. He smiled with satisfaction when she whimpered. He finally let go in favour of fumbling with the zipper on his pants, his other hand still busy between her legs. The bunk creaked as he climbed up. Shadow was thrown over her closed eyes as he loomed over her. But the sounds of the ship were growing more and more distant and muffled, like there was water in her ears. All that was left was his heavy panting. And just as he settled himself between her thighs she thankfully – mercifully – passed out.

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Bomber and Two-Dads had waited in miserable silence for well over an hour for their X to be returned to them, but so far they hadn't heard nor seen anything from the men who'd taken her. In fact the only sound that pierced the thick silence was Two-Dads pained, uneven breathing. His broken rib was still so painful that he couldn't move, couldn't even sit up properly. Bomber sat against a set of selves, staring into space. Brooding.

At some point, after an indeterminate amount of time, shouting reached them. They both tipped their ears towards the ceiling with half-hearted interest. An argument was building up on deck, and judging from the increasing number of voices it was gaining momentum, and fast. Without warning the air was filled with the sound of gunshots, first only a couple, but instantly erupting into an alarming cacophony of pops and bangs. Bomber sat up straight and shared a wide-eyed look with her crewmate. They were both paying full attention now, there was no doubt about that.

"A boarding?" Bomber asked hopefully, "The Hammersley?"

Two-Dads shook his head, and winced. "Nah, it can't be," he muttered, "It sounds all wrong. And anyway, the Hammersley has no way of knowing where we are."

"A mutiny then?" she wondered, "Or a raid? Illegal fishermen stealing other illegal fishermen's haul?"

"Maybe . . ."

They fell back into silence, listening intently. Two-Dads looked grim.

"We need to have another go at getting that door open," he said, shifting in an attempt to sit up straighter, "This may be our only chance to get a message to Hammersley, while everyone here is distracted."

They cast about the room for inspiration, and something caught Bomber's eye.

"Two-Dads," she said, pointing, "That do the trick?"

It was an old wooden crate, with a weathered crack running through one of the top most planks.

"It might," he answered, and together they strained to snap off the loose sliver of wood. It came away, and Bomber studied their find. It was old and brittle, and barely thicker than her thumb, but it would be long enough to reach through the gap in the door. It might just work.

"Be careful," Two-Dads panted, holding his ribs gingerly, "so it doesn't break."

The navy cook stepped close to the door and slotted the wood through the crack between it and the frame. She peered through the gap and carefully brought the stick up under the plank of wood that bolted the door, and after a couple of good strong flicks it fell away, freeing them.

"G . . . good . . ." Two-Dads puffed, still trying to sit.

Bomber eased the door open a crack to check that the coast was clear. They argued in hushed voices about her going out alone, but she insisted. They both knew that he was in too much pain, and would only slow her down. She stood a better chance of staying undetected if she was alone.

"Be careful," he warned.

"Always," she replied, leaving the door open just a crack.

Outside in the corridor, she hesitated. Her every nerve screamed at her to go and find the XO, but she didn't have the first clue where to look, and after all the time that had passed she knew she was too late to stop the men doing . . . whatever they'd had planned. She shuddered, and pushed the thoughts away. No, her best bet was to try and find the wheelhouse while the fight was still raging, and radio for help under the cover of all the confusion. Then, and only then, she could start looking for the X.

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**As usual, PLEASE review if you want more. EVERY SINGLE review does a lot in convincing me to write more, so you ALL need to contribute if you want me to continue. Every review is greatly appreciated.**

**Thanks for reading.  
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	2. I Don't Know Where She Is

**This one's really short, but if I get enough reviews I'll post more. By the way, Chapter One had been REWRITTEN. The storyline is the same, but the writing is better. You might want to check it out even if you've already read the old version. Up to you.  
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**Quick message for Kate: I'd like to have done what you asked, but FF always blocks addresses. Stupid rule if you ask me. Try sending it again in the format _namedotplaceataddressdotcom _and I'll substitute 'dot' for '.' and 'at' for the at sign and so on. Hope you get this message, and I'll be in touch.  
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The Hammersley boarding party reached the FFV during the aftermath of what must have been a volatile skirmish between the crew. Half the fishermen were dead, either peppered with bullets or slashed to ribbons with machetes. The remaining half was in the process of robbing the dead and tossing the bodies overboard when the navy interceded. In the XO's absence Dutchy led the boarding party with Charge and Swain. It took several tense minutes to gain control, but in the mêlée it felt like hours. Many of the FFV's remaining crew were shot in the process, the navy party narrowly dodging several bullets themselves, but Dutchy could feel no remorse for the fallen fishermen. These were men who'd just murdered half their crewmates and stolen their possessions without a second thought. They did not value the lives of their comrades, so Dutchy could see no value in them.

Midway through the fight Bomber appeared and almost strangled one of the men to death with a baton, and Dutchy recognised him as the man who's assaulted her on the other FFV. _Good for her_, he thought. He had no idea that Bomber had a much stronger reason for hating that man. Shortly after she joined the fight the rest of the threats were neutralised, and the battle was over.

"Where's the X and Two-Dads?" Charge asked her.

Bomber blanched at the question, her worry evident in her voice. "Two-Dads is pretty beaten up. He's still in the store room where we were locked up," she lowered her voice, shaking, "Some of the men came in and took the X away a while ago, and I haven't seen her since. I don't know where she is."

Dutchy swore under his breath. "Right. Charge, keep an eye on things up here. Swain, with me." He motioned below decks, "Bomber, show us where Two-Dads is. We need to secure him and get to the X as quickly as possible. Let's go!"

He shoved a gun into Bomber's hands and took the lead down the first stairwell. Bomber followed close behind, giving quiet directions until they reached the store room. Swain squeezed past them to attend to Two-Dads while Dutchy stood guard outside. The electronics technician looked was relieved to see that Bomber was safe and had managed to get help, but immediately started asking if they'd found the X yet, if she was okay Their grim faces answered for them. His relief turned back to worry. Swain announced that Two-Dads' rib was indeed broken, but that he'd be fine as he was for the moment. Dutchy ordered Bomber to stay behind and guard the wounded sailor, and then he and the medic went in search of their Executive Officer.

They moved silently and efficiently through each corridor, encountering no one even as they checked each room. It seemed that the conflict earlier had drawn all the crew to the surface, and it was eerily empty below decks. But when they finally found an occupied room they both felt suddenly ill.

Because the occupant was the X, and it was painfully obvious what had happened. She was sprawled limply on her back on a filthy bunk, a ragged blanket crumpled against the wall near her feet. Her shirt was open and the hem of her under-shirt was bunched up around her ribs. She was naked from the waist down. Her boots and pants were in a heap on the dirty floor, carelessly discarded. She wasn't moving.

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	3. X, Can You Hear Me?

_She was sprawled limply on her back on a filthy bunk, a ragged blanket crumpled against the wall near her feet. Her shirt was open and the hem of her under-shirt was bunched up around her ribs. She was naked from the waist down. Her boots and pants were in a heap on the dirty floor, carelessly discarded. She wasn't moving._

"Oh, jeez, X . . ." Swain breathed, rushing to her side. He desperately tipped her head back and felt for a pulse, fearing she was dead. He felt a weak flutter beneath her ashen skin and gasped in relief. "She's alive, just. X, can you hear me? Ma'am?" She didn't respond. Swain craned his neck to look back at Dutchy. The other man was staring, frozen in horror and disbelief. He still stood rigidly in the doorway. "Dutchy!" Swain barked, snapping him out of his trance, "We need to get her out of here."

"Right," Dutchy grunted, reaching for his radio, "Charlie-eight-two, this is Delta-eight-two, are you receiving me, over?"

There was a pause before the crackly reply came. "Delta-eight-two, this is Charlie-eight-two, sit-rep, over."

"We've secured the boat and the remainder of its crew, and we've found our sailors, over."

"Are they okay, over?"

"They're all alive. Bomber is unhurt. Two-Dads has sustained some injuries, but Swain thinks he'll be fine. Sir, the X . . ." his voice cracked almost imperceptibly, and he cleared his throat, "The X has been hurt. Request another RHIB be sent over so we can get our injured sailors back to the Hammersley at the rush, over."

There was a pause, and when the CO spoke again he sounded alarmed. "Request granted. Another RHIB is on its way and will be with you shortly. What's happened to the X, over?"

Swain reached for his own radio and answered in Dutchy's stead.

"Charlie-eight-two, this is Sierra-eight-two. The X is unconscious but breathing. I'll need to get her into the sick bay before I can tell you anymore." His voice was shaking.

"Very well, make it quick. Over."

Swain addressed Dutchy again, "We should get a stretcher down here."

"Don't bother," Dutchy muttered, holstering his gun and approaching the X. As he drew close his eyes took in the finer details of her appearance, like the way her blonde hair had escaped its ponytail and the shorter strands around her face were stuck to her damp skin. All the blood seemed to have drained out her face, leaving her sallow and corpse-like. She was sprawled limply on the bed, like she'd been deposited there from a great height. Her hands lay motionless, one up near her head and the other flung out to the side, dangling over the edge of the bunk. The delicate fingers of one hand were loosely curled into a half-fist.

Dutchy felt anger rise and threaten to surface at the thought of what had been done to her. He grew yet more enraged, and regretful, at the thought that he'd once again failed to protect her.

Swain took up guard duty outside the door while Dutchy took the ragged blanket that lay at the end of the bed and bundled it around her, covering her up. He slid his arms under her knees and around her shoulders, wincing at how limp she was as he effortlessly lifted her. Her head lolled back. They double-timed it back to the store room to fetch Bomber and Two-Dads, both of whom gasped in dismay at the sight of their XO lying lifelessly in Dutchy's arms.

There was no way to get to the RHIBs without walking straight through the group of people waiting up on deck, no delicate way to get the word out about what had happened. Dutchy had no choice but to carry her through the group, drawing shocked stares. The Hammersley lot were all stunned and shaken to see their XO in such a state. Even though the blanket swamped her and mostly concealed her, no one could miss the significance of her bare calves and tangled hair. They all knew what must have happened. The fishermen, who were all on their knees with their hands behind their heads, felt the collective mood of their captors darken, and were wise enough to remain silent.

"She's alive," Dutchy muttered, answering his comrades' unasked question.

Bomber and Swain followed in his wake through the group, supporting Two-Dads between them and drawing further worried looks from the crew.

The second RHIB was waiting for them as promised, and Swain boarded first. He helped Two-Dads over, then Bomber followed. Dutchy leaned over the side to pass Kate into Swain's waiting arms, and then climbed over himself, leaving Charge to supervise the transportation of the prisoners to the Hammersley. He might have stayed, but his mind was set on one thing and one thing only – protect the X.

He held her in his lap during the short ride back to the Hammersley, keeping her warm and covered up and stopping her from being battered about by the bumpy sea boat. When they reached the ship the CO was waiting anxiously on the boat deck for them. Dutchy jumped out first and immediately reached back for Kate. Her limp body was once again passed from one set of arms to the other, like a ragdoll. Mike moved as if to help, but before anyone could get close Dutchy had her cradled in his massive arms and was heading straight for the sick bay.

"What happened? Is she alright?" Mike demanded, reaching out to help first Bomber then Two-Dads out of the RHIB. Swain followed unaided, and his expression told Mike everything he needed to know. The CO's face paled.

"I'm sorry, boss," Bomber croaked, tears in her eyes, "We tried to stop it, but we couldn't get to her. It's all my fault!"

"No, Bomber, it's not," Mike said, looking a bit dazed, "I'm sure you did everything you could. Do we know who did it?"

"Yes, sir," Bomber said, growing fierce, "I caught him back on the other boat trying to shoot his way out. He's in custody, sir."

"Good, at least that's something," the CO muttered, looking distinctly sickened, "Swain, you'd best get down to the sick bay right away. Bomber, go with him, help with Two-Dads."

"Yes, sir."

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	4. Don't Worry, I Won't Leave You

**If I'm being honest I was kind of disappointed with the number of reviews I got for my last chapter and the last chapter I posted for the other fic I'm currently working on. Inall fairness the last two chapters of this fic were pretty short, so I can understand why I didn't get much feedback. So I'm posting again anyway. This one's nice and long, so I hope I'll get a better response this time. But since all the chapters in my other fic are long I'm going to assume my readers are just being a bit lazy, so I don't think I'll bother updating that one for a while. I have no interest in updating fics if I'm not getting feedback. I love to hear from you guys.  
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**In the meantime, here's a new chapter, which I hope you enjoy.**

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It didn't take long to get Two-Dads patched up, and afterwards Swain made them leave so he could treat Kate, who had yet to wake. Bomber left to help Two-Dads limp to his cabin and keep an eye on him. Mike, who had been back and forth between the sick bay and the bridge numerous times, looked reluctant to leave Kate. He had been hovering concernedly over her since she'd been brought back, but he had responsibilities to the boat that he couldn't just ignore entirely. He marched off to make himself useful the moment Swain turned him out of the sickbay. Mike Flynn wasn't good at waiting. Dutchy had been very quiet the whole time, his expression stony almost to the point of being frightening. He'd stood over Kate while Swain was looking after Two-Dads, and when he was the last to leave when Swain wanted them all out of the sick bay. He didn't go far, and took up a post outside the door to wait. If anyone thought he was acting like an over-zealous bodyguard, they dared not say so. He was determined to stay with her for as long as it took. For as long as he needed to, and a good while after he didn't.

Meanwhile, the prisoners from the FFV had been brought over in the RHIBs, though a couple of return trips had been needed to get them all across. They passed by the sick bay on their way to Austere, shuffling along in small, ragtag groups and led by grim looking navy sailors. After a while the groups stopped coming, and the ship grew unusually quiet. By now word had spread of what had happened to the XO, and many of the crew didn't know how to take it. Much of the crew, the junior sailors in particular, had always been a little in awe of Lieutenant Kate McGregor. She could be very intimidating when she wanted to be. But despite this she was, for the most part, well liked. Some of the senior sailors, or those that spent the most time with her, were taking it the hardest. Some of the crew were scared by the thought that anyone could hurt such a strong, powerful woman like that. It made them feel vulnerable. Others, those that knew her better and considered her a friend, were simply deeply worried about her. But, in one way or another, the despondent atmosphere had gotten to everyone. People sank deep into their own pensive thoughts, and no one was talking much.

A few of the crew came looking for news of Kate while Swain was still with her, but each time they showed up Dutchy sent them away again with a fearsome glare. At one point Charge came by, and just as Dutchy was gearing up to stare him down the engineer raised a hand soothingly.

"I'm not here trawling for gossip," he stated, holding out a cup, "I just thought you could use a brew." Dutchy took the hot mug, nodding his thanks. "Don't beat yourself up, mate," Charge said, as if reading his mind, "There wasn't a thing you could have done." He clapped the other man on the shoulder, unsmiling. "Try to take it easy, alright?" And with that he left.

Just when he was beginning to think that Swain's assessment would go on forever, the medic appeared. Dutchy caught a brief glimpse of Kate before the door swung shut again.

"Where's the CO?" Swain asked, not at all surprised to see that Dutchy was still there. The medic's voice was gravelly and he looked exhausted. Never before had a medical exam taken such a toll on him emotionally. He still wore a headset; the headphone's hanging around his neck. He'd been on the phone with a doctor back on land. Dutchy wasn't sure what to make of this, but he figured it couldn't mean anything good.

"Bridge," Dutchy muttered. Swain started to walk away, but the other man called after him. "Can I see her now?"

"She's not conscious yet," Swain said quietly, returning, "And when she does wake up I'll probably have to give her a sedative to keep her calm. She's still very sick from the cyanide, and . . . you know." There was a hidden warning in his words: go in, but be prepared, because you won't like what you see.

Dutchy nodded mutely, and waited for Swain to turn the corner before he opened the door and edged inside. Closing it behind him, he leaned back against the other side of the door and took in the sight of the XO. She somehow looked even worse than she had on the FFV. She was lying on the sick bed in the middle of the room, breathing shallowly. She was deathly pale, and her closed eyes were sunken and ringed with dark circles. She was sporting the beginnings of what would soon be a wicked black eye, and more bruises were starting to develop in rings around her wrists and neck. Dutchy's fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles popped. She'd been strangled. Whether the harm had been done for fun or to scare her into submission, Dutchy suddenly wished that he had the man who'd done this to her in his own hands so he could make him pay. He felt the desire to beat the bastard to a pulp, felt the need swell up inside of him until his face was livid and his knuckles stark white. He remembered the look on Swain's face as he'd left the sick bay, and thought of all the bruises that the medic had seen that he now couldn't. Dutchy looked at her, and forced himself to calm down. Forced himself to focus on her, not the slimy little worm that had hurt her.

A fine sheen of sweat coated her sallow skin, evidence of her raging fever. Swain had hooked her up to an IV that no doubt contained fluids and painkillers, and at some point he'd wiped the worst of the grime from her skin and dressed her in a clean pair of camo pants and a new grey tee. He'd taken care of her. Dutchy felt a rush of gratitude to the man, who managed to act as a protective older brother to everyone on board, even the X.

As he watched, she twitched and whimpered faintly in her sleep. There was nothing he could do for her except to push her hair back off her feverish brow. He wasn't really the soft-touch type, and he didn't know what else to do to comfort her. All he could think was that he'd failed to do his job _again_ in not being there to protect her. He went and stood in a corner of the sickbay, folded his arms across his chest and resolved to wait there until she woke up. He stayed there, silent, whether there were other people in the room or not. He ignored them, and they mostly ignored him. He became the ever present elephant in the room. Part of the furniture. He just kept out of Swain's way, and watched.

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He'd barely moved an inch in hours, staring constantly at Kate. Two-Dads, loaded up on painkillers, had crashed the moment Bomber had deposited him on his bunk, and Swain had thought it best to just leave him there. This meant that, with the exception of Swain's regular visits, Dutchy was alone in the sick bay with Kate.

During his earlier call to shore Swain had been told that the fishermen's antidote, while crude, was ultimately effective. The doctors had suggested things Swain could do to speed up her recovery and soothe some of the remaining symptoms, all of which he had tried, but she still had a raging fever. If anything she seemed to be getting worse, and Swain had voiced concerns that if she'd didn't start to improve soon there was a risk that she might stop breathing. But there was nothing more the medic could do for her, and he'd left to deal with his other duties, checking in every once in a while. So Dutchy kept up his vigil, watching steadfastly for the sporadic rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

She was really supposed to be elsewhere by now. The plan had been to meet with a larger navy ship, the HMAS Newcastle, which had better holding and medical facilities, and transfer the prisoners and the injured sailors, but the Newcastle had never made it to the rendezvous point. Worse still, the Hammersley couldn't get in contact with the Newcastle or NAVCOM to find out what had gone wrong. RO had speculated that the radios being down might mean there was an electrical storm brewing somewhere nearby, but the ship's weather systems weren't showing anything and with the ship's electrical technician out for the count on painkillers there was no one who could shed any real light on the problem. Not long after this the CO had decided that they had no option but to return to shore immediately.

That was when the real problems had started. Charge reported unusual noises in the engine rooms, and as a precaution they sailed at half speed. Not long after that the engines died, completely and inexplicably. Charge couldn't say for sure what had gone wrong or how long it would take to fix, but in the mean time they were dead in the water. Stranded, with not a spit of land anywhere on the horizon. It was as if the whole ship was suffering along with its XO. The worse she got, the worse the ship got. It was irrational, but that was what it felt like. Most of the crew were stuck with nothing to do until Charge figured out how to get the engines working again. Dutchy stayed where he was.

But, unbelievably, this wasn't the end to their problems. Shortly after the engines died the generator over heated and caught fire. It was put out before any real damage was done, but there would be no fixing it while they were still at sea. Now they were not only dead in the water, but dark in the water. There were no more back-ups. None of the equipment was working, nor the lights. The sailors were moving about the ship with flashlights and lamps. The refrigerator in the galley was dead, and pretty soon the food would spoil. This dampened the crew's mood even more. Some of the junior sailors were starting to whisper about jinxes and bad luck. They thought the ship was under a curse of some description, and the behaviour of the engines did nothing to abate their worries. Every time Charge thought he'd fixed something, something else went wrong. He was growing increasingly frustrated.

Hours later night fell, and the ship sank slowly into total darkness. No progress had been made in the repairs, and nothing had been sighted on the horizon. No ships, no land, nothing. At this rate they could be out there for days. A ghost ship. Some of the senior sailors had been looking at the charts, and had realised that the navigation equipment had been malfunctioning long before the engine went down. Probably for the same reason the radios hadn't been working, whatever that reason was. They came to the weary conclusion that they were probably miles off course from where they thought they had been when they last communicated with NAVCOM. This meant that, should NAVCOM come looking for them after they failed to check in, they'd be looking in the wrong place. After all that had happened it was like salt in the wound. Insult added to injury.

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Dutchy shifted, flexing his neck and feeling the joints pop. He'd been almost totally still for a long time, and his muscles were starting to cramp up. Up 'til now he'd barely noticed. It was dark in the sick bay, the only light coming from a battery powered lamp on one of the counters. It threw everything into sharp relief, sending deep shadows skittering across the room. Kate seemed even more bloodless in the peculiar light. Her fever had broken an hour or so ago, which was a relief, but she still hadn't woken up. Swain said it was good, that sleep was what she needed. Her mind would have a lot of healing to do when she did wake up, so it was best that she be as well rested as possible.

For the hundredth time since Swain had left him alone with her, Dutchy took in the sight of her injuries and felt like his heart had dropped into the pit of his stomach. This was what he's been afraid of, what he'd always been afraid of since the first moment they were introduced. He'd seen her once before, on the dock, but then he hadn't known who she was. Then on the bridge of the Hammersley the CO had revealed that she was the XO, and Dutchy's blood had run cold. Ever since the Gulf he'd been worried about losing another Executive Officer. He'd told himself that he would make it his mission to protect the next one that came along, no matter what. He thought back to his last XO, the one he'd lost. _He _had been a huge, broad-shouldered bloke, built like a concrete bunker and almost as strong as Dutchy. Dutchy had hoped for another X like that, one who would make his job easier. Someone who wouldn't need much protecting. In that moment Kate had seemed impossibly small, as if he could knock her over with a single breath. She'd smiled and offered her hand to shake, but at the time he'd been too horrified to respond straight away. He'd looked at her, thought of all the dangers he would have to protect her from, thought of how easily she could be hurt compared with his old XO. How could he possibly be expected to protect something so . . . fragile? As he'd stared at her, her smile faltering at his stony gaze, he'd feared for her.

Later he'd gotten to know her a little better, heard stories about her from the crew and seen firsthand what she was capable of. And he had to admit, she was much tougher than he'd thought. She was small, but she was a firecracker, a no-nonsense though-guy with an iron will. She'd fought through her share of deranged psychos, and won. She'd taken bullets and been unfazed. She'd been caught in explosions and wanted nothing more than to get right back to work. No matter how many knocks she took she always pulled herself back up. She was tougher than he could have imagined. But now, as he watched her sleep in the dim light of the lamp, he knew that this was different. This wasn't the kind of thing that you dusted off your clothes and walked away from. This would leave its mark forever. He tried to form the word in his mind, but he couldn't even bring himself to think it.

All at once the ship lurched, and Dutchy straightened up abruptly. There was a pause, during which Dutchy wondered if his tired mind was playing tricks on him, and then without warning there was another almighty lurch that sent loose objects soaring across the room and into the far wall. Kate was tipped right off the bed and bombarded by random bits of medical equipment. She landed in a crumpled heap, letting out a semi-conscious groan. Dutchy was across the room in the blink of an eye, making sure she was alright. His hands ran deftly over her, checking her head and neck for new injuries before moving on to her arms and torso. The catheter for her IV had been ripped right out of her arm during the fall, and blood spurted from the wound, but other than that she didn't seem to be any more hurt than before. However, the sudden jolt _had_ seemed to have woken her up some, for she began to open her eyes. She moaned and squeezed them shut again, even the pathetic light from the travel lamp hurting her sensitive eyes. She managed to drape her uninjured arm across her face, but moved no more than that.

"X? X, can you hear me?" Dutchy said urgently, gently gripping her shoulders and giving her a shake. She moaned in protest. "X!" he insisted, leaning closer and lifting her arm away from her face, "Can you hear me?"

His shadow passed over her eyes as he leaned nearer, and she suddenly cried out and tried to jerk away. He leapt back in panic, thinking he'd accidentally hurt her.

"What's wrong? Kate!"

She stopped trying to scramble away and squinted woozily up at him. "Dutchy?" Her voice was raspy and shook as she gasped in shuddering breaths.

"Yeah, X," he said, trying to pretend he hadn't just called her by her first name, "It's me."

"W-where am I?"

"Back on the Hammersley, ma'am, where you belong."

She paused for a moment, her eyes darting about as if she couldn't quite grasp what was going on. "Bomber and Two-Dads . . ." she began uncertainly.

"They're back on board too. Don't worry, they're fine."

She frowned, rubbing at her temple. He could tell she knew something was wrong and was only just beginning to remember. She was shaking, and tears began to well in her eyes as the events of the day before slowly resurfaced. She covered her eyes as if to block out the images, tucking her knees up to her chest and hiding her face in her hands. "There was a man . . . h-he . . . he . . . oh god, I—"

"Shh," he soothed, pulling her suddenly into his arms, "I know, I know . . . Shh, now, it's okay . . . it's gonna be okay . . ."

In that moment it was if she stopped being Lieutenant McGregor and suddenly became a frightened child. Her usual calm, authoritative attitude was forgotten, and she clutched at his shirt and sobbed brokenly into his chest. It was difficult to witness. He held her tighter, not really knowing what to do and relying on instinct to guide him. His broad, muscled frame made her seen tiny and frail. She was engulfed in his arms.

"Shh . . ." He kept soothing her, desperately wishing the heartbreaking tears would stop. He was a fighter, a protector. He stopped harm from happening; he didn't know how to make it go away once it had already been inflicted. "It's okay, you're safe now. No one's going to hurt you . . . shh . . ."

As if irked at being ignored the ship gave another violent lurch, and Swain suddenly tumbled through the door.

"There's one hell of a storm blowing— oh." He'd caught sight of Kate and Dutchy on the floor and stopped midsentence. His brow puckered in sorrow at the sight of the X hastily wiping the tears from her face and trying to hide the fact that she'd been weeping. His voice grew soft. "Hey, X. It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

"Her IV got ripped out when she fell," Dutchy said, sensing that Kate still couldn't talk without her voice shaking. He knew she didn't like to seem weak, in any way.

"That's easily fixed," Swain said kindly, "If you just hop back onto the bed we'll get you sorted out in no time." He was forcing his voice to remain light, trying to calm Kate down, for all the good that it did. She didn't get the chance to do any hopping, however, for before she even got the chance to move Dutchy had scooped her up and lifted her onto the bed. Swain was busily gathering pieces of equipment, taking a little longer than usual since half his stuff was all over the floor. In no time at all he'd bandaged her bleeding arm and inserted another catheter. He looked her over briefly, shining a light in her eyes and asking her to describe how she felt. She replied in a shaky voice. She said she felt queasy and ached all over.

"Well, that's to be expected. You've got a lots of bumps and bruises," he said, a wild understatement. He produced a syringe and reached for the IV line. "Now, I'm just going to give you a sedative to help you relax—"

"No, I don't want—"

"Stay calm, ma'am, it's only mild. It'll make you feel better—"

"No!"

"Alright," he soothed, putting the syringe away, "but you have to promise to stay calm and relaxed, or you're going to develop a fever again. You need to get well. Okay?"

She nodded mutely.

"Dutchy, can I have a word?" Swain said, nodding towards the door. They went outside and pulled the door shut behind them.

"What going on?" Dutchy asked as the ship shuddered with another jerk.

"We're caught right in the middle of a storm," the medic said grimly, "and without our engines or equipment working there's nothing we can do but ride it out. It came out of nowhere, no one saw it coming. Robert thinks it could keep blowing on and off like this for days, and it's only going to get worse."

"Crap."

"Yeah. We're taking a real pummelling. There won't be any other vessels out here for quite some time; they'll be avoiding the storm. But it gets worse."

"Great."

"We've been looking at the charts, and it's difficult to say since our faulty equipment could have taken us anywhere, but there's a good chance we've drifted out of Australian waters."

"What! We'll be sitting ducks just waiting for pirates."

"I know, mate. Look, don't tell the X, yeah? She's got enough to worry about for now. I'm just warning you so know what going on and you're ready in case anything goes wrong. Something tells me the next few days are going to be like a bad theme park ride."

"Alright. Thanks mate."

"No problem. By the way, if you're going to stay with the X could you make sure she doesn't get too stressed out? If she starts to panic or hyperventilate or anything like that you need to come and get me, okay?"

"Got it."

Swain left, and Dutchy returned to Kate.

"What's going on out there?" she sniffed. When Swain had arrived she'd forced herself to regain control over her emotions. Now that he'd gone she seemed to be struggling again.

"We've just got caught in a bit of a storm, that's all. Don't worry about it. Here," he moved closer and erected the barriers along the sides of her bed in the hope that they'd help stop her from being pitched off onto the floor when the next big wave rocked the ship. He leaned his forearms on one of the bars and looked at her.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head vehemently. Her eyes were glistening again, and she looked on the verge of having another breakdown.

"Okay then. Later." It seemed like a promise. She'd have to talk to someone eventually. There was a moment of awkward silence, during which Kate hugged her knees and sniffled and tried not to cry. After about thirty seconds Dutchy couldn't stand it anymore, and he tugged her against his chest again. She sat stiffly in his arms, not hugging him back. No doubt part of her was quarrelling that it was inappropriate. But she still seemed to take comfort from it, because the sniffling stopped and she let out a shaky sigh.

"Why don't you lie down, try to go to sleep?" he suggested softly.

"I've been asleep for hours," she protested, the weariness in her voice betraying her.

"Come on," he said, tugging out the soft blanket from under her feet and draping it over her knees. His other hand stayed at her back, rubbing gently until she leaned back into his touch. He lowered her onto the pillow, but she twisted onto her side and brought her knees back up to her chest again, curling into a little ball. He tucked the blanket around her. She watched him anxiously out of the corner of her eye. He rested his hand on her arm.

"Don't worry. I won't leave you."

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******Um, I honestly haven't got a clue where to go from here. I hadn't planned to write a multichap when I posted chapter one. Some suggestions would be really helpful. Cheers.  
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******Thanks for reading.  
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	5. You've Got To Come Back!

**A HUGE big thank you to everyone who's reviewed and shared their ideas. You lot have been truly fantastic since I last posted. I'm sorry I've been so dreadfully inconsistent with respect to the length of my chapters. Cross fingers the next one will be much longer.  
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He kept his word. Even after she'd fallen back to sleep he stayed with her. Once her breathing had evened out and he was sure she was asleep he had gone back to his position in the corner of the room, but he never left. A little after Swain's last visit the CO showed up, but was disappointed when Dutchy told him he'd just missed Kate's period of wakefulness. Mike had looked down at her sadly for a while, and touched her hand tenderly, and quietly thanked Dutchy for watching over her. The younger man saw something in his boss' eyes that night. Nostalgia? Reminiscence? The captain looked at Kate in that same, knowing way that he did when they bantered or argued. Dutchy had seen it before. For a while it had made him think that they were romantically involved, but . . . no. The longer he'd watched them the clearer it became that whatever they'd shared between them, whatever that bond was, it was old and faded. A fond memory they shared. History.

The captain only stayed a few minutes before reluctantly heading back to the bridge.

Bomber stopped by too, looking distraught at the state the XO was in. She'd brought Kate's boots and left them by her bed, mumbling that she might want them if she got sick of the ward room and wanted to go for a walk. Fraught with ill-conceived guilt, she hadn't stayed long either.

The ship was still rocking and shaking, trapped in the centre of the worst storm it had seen in a long time. Thunder and lightning crashed and roared outside, every so often illuminating the dark cabins with its electric flashes. Rain pounded the hull relentlessly and whenever a hatch was opened, even briefly, the wind howled gleefully down the corridors.

It wasn't too surprising, then, that Kate didn't remain asleep for long. Dutchy, who was still watching her, knew the moment she awoke, even though she pretended to still be sleeping. He could see her flinch with every loud noise; see her tense against the pain that was surely all encompassing. Her bruises were fully developed now, dark and poignant even in the dimly lit room. She was facing away from him, but he tell she was holding her lower abdomen, and his mind inadvertently turned to the horrible aches and cramps she must be feeling, courtesy of her attacker. His expression went stormy to match the weather outside.

A little while later Dutchy noticed an almost imperceptible shaking of her shoulders. On taking a step closer and straining to listen over the storm, he thought he heard crying.

"X? Are you alright?" he said softly, stepping closer.

"Fine," she said thickly. He sped up and reached for her. His outstretched fingers brushed her shoulder, and she jumped in fright. She sat up and almost fell off the bed. It was his hands that halted her fall. Frustrated and overwhelmed, she began to cry in earnest. He tried to comfort her, but it seemed to only upset her more and she shrugged his hands away, wiping furiously at her tears and turning her back to him. Her breathing was hitched and ever increasing in speed.

"X, do you need me to get Swain?" he asked, worriedly.

"No!" she choked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, "I just . . . need . . . some air!" She was hyperventilating, staring at him with pleading eyes.

"Alright ma'am, just try to stay calm and we'll have you out of here in no time," he said, moving round to the other side of the bed and retrieving her boots. He took her feet in his hands one at a time, slipping them into the boots and lacing them up for her like she were a child. Kate could do little but gasp and pant and clutch at her aching midriff. The moment he was done she jumped down, gasping as the shock ran through her abs and bending double with the pain. But she was frantic and determined, and before he could stop her she'd stumbled out into the corridor and was lurching towards the nearest hatch. He gave chase, calling after her.

Kate wrenched open the door and all but fell out just as Dutchy reached her. They were both instantly soaked as the rain battered them and the wind tore at their clothes. The deck was pitch dark, the water looking thick and black as oil as it washed over the side.

"X!" Dutchy shouted, trying to grab her, "You've got to come back inside!" The gale was doing its best to carry any voices away, and he had to shout at the top of his lungs just to be heard.

"He's here, isn't he?" she yelled, her voice strained and hoarse, "The man who did this to me?"

He stared at her.

Her face crumpled and a sob escaped, but in the next breath she'd spun away from him and was pacing up the deck.

"Yes. He's here," he said eventually, watching her, "But he's locked up. He can't hurt you. And he won't get away with what he did; soon he's going to get exactly what he deserves." He paused, then added in a low mutter, "Especially if I ever get my hands on him."

She paced, arms crossed tightly over her chest and her head bent against the wind. There was a battle raging in her mind, the evidence of it clear in her expression.

Out of nowhere, Dutchy felt a rumble beneath his feet, and seconds later lights started to come on all over the ship. Finally, the engine, or the generator, was running again. Or both. A minute after that he felt the engines start up and the ship begin to move.

Lightning lit up the sky.

Kate turned on her heel and began another width of the deck.

Thunder cracked like a whip over their heads.

The ship picked up speed and turned.

Kate reached the railing and started to turn back.

Dutchy saw what was about to happen a split second too late to stop it. Kate's back was to the gap in the rail where the gangplank was placed when the ship was in port. The deck beneath her feet shone wetly in the sudden light from the ship. She started to turn, her heel spinning and sending up a spray of water. Her foot slipped and for a brief moment she teetered on the edge of balance. Dutchy leapt forward, hands outstretched. Kate's back hit the chain that crossed the gap in the rail, and it gave way. She arced backwards, hands flailing for a grip. Dutchy's hand met hers, and for a moments they seemed safe, but her momentum was too strong and his balance over the railing was too precarious. As if sensing the danger the storm threw up an almighty wave, water crashing over them like cold fingers trying to drag them down to the sea. The ship felt the shock of it, and lurched terrifyingly. They were thrown overboard.

They hit the sea amidst a chaos of raging white water, and were quickly lost in the inky black depths.

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**I was feeling very contrary when I came up with this, which is why it sort of does the opposite to what some of you suggested. I want to make it clear that I'm still VERY grateful for all your ideas, and they really were helpful, even if it doesn't look that way at the moment. Please please please keep reviewing and sending me your ideas, because I may well use them later on in the fic.**

**As always, thank you for reading.  
**


	6. There's No Way I'll Make It!

**Hm, not happy with this. Still too short. Let me know what you think.**

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Dutchy surfaced amidst thrashing waves and driving rain. Kate had been ripped from his grasp during the impact, and after that he'd lost track of her. The soup-like darkness and sheet rain made it impossible to see more than a foot in any direction, and even during the brief interludes when lightning lit up the sky the sea was too wild to allow a decent view of what was going on.

"X? X! Kate!" he bellowed into the onslaught, twisting and turning in the water as he searched for her, "KATE!"

There! A flash of pale in the darkness! But it was gone again in a blink, so fast that he was certain it had just been spray from the crashing waves. But then he saw it again, and swam for it. It dropped below the surface again and he dived after it, resurfacing moments later with a spluttering Kate in his arms. She was in such pain that she couldn't swim, instead fighting with the need to double up and clutch her sore abdomen. He trod water with one arm around her waist, holding tighter than was necessary out of fear that they'd be separated again.

Waves that were easily twice Dutchy's height rolled and crashed into each other, breaking with explosions of frothing spray. The two navy sailors were thrown around mercilessly, and could only watch with dismay as the Hammersley, now far away and picking up speed, left them behind. Their cries of 'man overboard' were swallowed up by the rain and carried away by the wicked wind.

They kept watching long after the warship had disappeared into the night, both hoping that it would come back for them. It was a futile hope. No one on board had known they'd gone out on deck, and since both of them had been given temporary leave of their regular duties nobody would be expecting to see them working around the ship. In fact, no one would have seen much of them at all because everyone was avoiding the ward room. They didn't know how to behave around the X now, and Dutchy's intimidating over-protectiveness only made it easier for the crew to excuse themselves from visiting. In short, it could be hours before they were missed, if not longer. The search area would be unfathomable, especially since the crew would have no idea just _when_ they'd lost the two sailors, and with the storm whipping the sea up into a frenzy Kate and Dutchy could be swept miles out of the way in almost no time at all. Assuming they didn't drown first.

The swells continuously washed over their heads and had them struggling to remain on the surface. Though swimming together made it harder to stay afloat, Dutchy was determined not to let go. Determined that they wouldn't be torn away from each other by the ever-heaving water. Determined to keep her safe, with him. Kate kicked as best she could and clung to his arm around her waist. With her back pressed to his side she could feel his muscles straining and flexing with the effort of keeping both their heads above water.

The storm showed no sign of easing up – if anything it seemed to have picked up momentum. Thunder and lightning exploded through the sky so often that they felt surrounded by it. Dutchy was getting desperate. Kate was too tired to think, her whole being concentrated on kicking. But Dutchy's mind was working none-stop. He knew that they couldn't keep this up forever. When he'd first come to accept that the ship wasn't coming back he'd removed his boots and gotten Kate to take hers off too. It was easier to kick without them, but for some reason he'd been reluctant to just let them sink to the bottom of the ocean. They were going to have to get out of the water somehow, and a small instinct in him was nagging that they would need the boots if they did get out before the Hammersley found them. So he'd knotted the laces together and looped them – his and Kate's – through his belt. It wasn't all that rational since the boots were just extra weight that served no purpose in the water, but if they really did find another boat to pick them up . . .

His eyes had grown accustomed to the eclectic lightning show, and he hadn't paid it much attention in a while, but suddenly something about it drew his gaze. He saw something in the light of one of the flashes, a dark silhouette on the horizon.

"X!" he yelled, turning them in the water so that she was facing towards the shape, "Look!"

She raised her head weakly. "I don't see anything!"

"Wait for the lightning!" he instructed. They waited, squinting anxiously into the darkness. "Come on . . . come on . . . !" he muttered, spitting out mouthfuls of salty water. Another flash of lightning . . . and there it was! A shadowy clump of solidity, rising out of the squall.

"Is that land?" Kate yelped incredulously.

"I think so, X!" he replied, grinning manically. The very sight of land had shot him into a cloud of insane energy. It was a beacon of hope.

"It's too far," she said resignedly.

"You can't tell how far away it is in this light!" he protested, craning his neck to look at her.

"It doesn't matter; we both know I wouldn't be able to swim that far, even if I wasn't hurt! There's no way I'll make it now!"

"Then I'll tow you!" he shouted determinedly, making as if to start swimming.

"Don't be ridiculous!" she yelled back, tugging on his arm to escape his grip, "If you do that I'll drag you down. Go without me – or we both drown!"

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**I've already finished the next chapter, which is thankfully three times as long as this one. I only really cut this one off at this particular point because I was feeling melodramatic and the last line appealed to me. Anyway, I'm going to hold off on posting the next chapter until I get some feedback for this one. And by feedback, I mean reviews (hint hint).**


	7. Think Buoyant Thoughts

**We reached a bit of a milestone yesterday because _Just Out of Time_ got its 50th review! I can't tell you how grateful I am! And as a token of my gratitude, here's a nice long chapter. Enjoy.**

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"_Then I'll tow you!" he shouted determinedly, making as if to start swimming._

"_Don't be ridiculous!" she yelled back, tugging on his arm to escape his grip, "If you do that I'll drag you down. Go without me, or we both drown!"_

Dutchy tightened his grip and flipped onto his back, holding her to his chest. He started to kick and swim with his free arm, heading for the land. Kate wrigged.

"Dutchy!"

"Will you stop being a moron and stay still!" he snapped, "There's no chance in hell that I'm leaving you here to drown, so stop making this more difficult. I don't care if I have to drag your skinny arse two miles or two hundred miles, I'm not leaving you. Just stay still and think buoyant thoughts."

Feeling distinctly like a junior sailor again, Kate shut up and did as she was told. She was too tired to fight anymore anyway. She tried to help but there was little she could do from the position she was in. Dutchy swam doggedly on, occasionally switching which arm he swam with and which he held her with. On and on, slowly and steadily until they lost all sense of time. It was impossible to gauge their progress, only glimpsing the land in brief flashes of lightning. It never seemed any closer, no matter how long they kept going.

Dutchy was resolute. Kate felt his panting breaths, hot and loud in her ear, felt his grunts of exertion, but she never felt him waver. She felt oddly awed. After a period that could have been anything from twenty minutes to two hours, Kate felt that the pain in her midriff had eased enough for her to swim alone for a while. Dutchy made her tread water while he pulled the laces from three of their boots, hooking the remaining lace through a couple of the eyes on each boot so he could tie them all to his belt. He then tied the three bootless laces together and tied one end of the resulting long string to Kate's belt and the other to his own. This tenuous connection would stop them from drifting apart and losing each other, and would alert him if Kate was getting too tired. Because, of course, she'd never tell him.

She did surprisingly well, swimming unaided for a long time before he felt the string pull taut one too many times and knew she was struggling to keep up. When this happened he wordlessly pulled her back to him and they resumed their original positions.

For what had to have been hours they swam thus, with Kate alternating between swimming alone and being towed by Dutchy. He didn't allow himself to dwell on how tired _he_ was getting. He needed to be strong, for both their sakes.

They eventually became so tired that they didn't even notice the dark silhouette grow larger and larger until it loomed over them. When Dutchy finally did look up and see it he felt a sudden rush of energy. They were going to make it.

It wasn't land in the sense they originally thought. On closer inspection he realised it was only a small island, and felt his excitement dampen slightly. An island that size, in the middle of nowhere, stood a strong chance of being uninhabited. But still, it was land nonetheless.

"Look, X," he puffed, giving her a little shake, "We're almost there!"

Kate hadn't swum alone in a while. She'd actually gone pretty still, and Dutchy worried she'd fallen asleep. Or worse. He thought her lips looked blue, but it was difficult to tell in the poor light.

He splashed and struggled the last few meters, half dragging, half carrying Kate through the shallows and flopping down, utterly exhausted, in the freezing surf. After a moment he woozily forced himself to stand up and tried to heave Kate to her feet. He sagged against him, only half aware of what was going on. The pain and fatigue was overwhelming her.

"Kate?" He tried to get her to stand.

She groaned, and suddenly twisted away from him. He caught her around the waist and held her up as she vomited up copious amounts of sea water, her stomach muscles convulsing under his hand as she dangled helplessly in his arms. When she was done she went completely limp, her eyes half lidded and unfocused. He swayed unsteadily, barely managing to hold her up. The distance to the tree line couldn't have been more than a few yards, but to Dutchy it seemed more like miles. He knew he needed to get them out of the wind and rain and get them warm and dry, but his muscles were shaking uncontrollably with fatigue, his legs like jelly beneath him.

"Come on, X," he panted, heaving her up, "Just a little bit further. Don't go to sleep yet."

She made an incoherent noise and managed to plant her feet on the ground, but couldn't walk or even stay upright without his help. She was too small for him to get her arm across his shoulders, so he just held her up around her waist and gripped her arm with his free hand. They stumbled and staggered up the beach, falling repeatedly and dragging themselves back up. A few meters into the trees the wind died down dramatically and the rain became trapped up in the thick canopy. It created the sensation of having cotton wool suddenly shoved in their ears. He forced them onwards until the sand gave way to dirt and fallen leaves, where it was relatively dry. He found a tiny clearing and let Kate slump to the ground, dropping down next to her. He felt winded.

"We made it, X," he said, fantastically tired but deliriously happy. She barely seemed to hear him, and he let her rest.

He would have liked nothing more than to go to sleep right there and then, but he knew better. They'd freeze to death in their soaking wet clothes. They needed warmth, needed to get dry. He did a quick inventory of what materials they had to work with, which didn't amount to much. They hadn't had much with them when they'd fallen overboard, and most of what they did have had been lost to the stormy sea. Dutchy was in full uniform, but Kate was only wearing her pants and grey t-shirt, and she hadn't had any of the usual kit that went with the outfit. Dutchy had lost most of his, including his glow stick, but he was encouraged when he found his pocket knife buttoned in one of his pant leg pockets. Of all the things they could have had, the knife was the best. He got straight to work gathering fallen and dead wood, of which there was an abundance, from the forest floor, and hunted out some long dry grass. As he worked he was running through a list in his mind of every method he knew about starting a fire. Most ideas were discarded over lack of materials, but Dutchy had been a big fan of camping as a kid, and he knew ways to make fire that worked just as well and needed no special tools. He found a stout stick and dug a shallow hole in the middle of the clearing and arranged some of the dry wood inside it. This done, he jogged out into the woods in search of two important things. The first he found with relative ease, happening upon some bracket fungus growing on a tree truck not far from the clearing. He broke some off and took it back to the clearing and deposited it by the fire pit. The second item took a little more work, especially in the dark. He had to dig for a while, squinting at each rock he found and discarding it moments later. Ten minutes later he found what he was after, a piece of flint about the size of his thumb. He went over to Kate a nudged her.

"X, time to wake up." She moaned and swatted him away. "You've slept enough, X, come on now," he persisted, heaving her into a sitting position. She mumbled in protest, but opened her eyes. Blearily she took in the fire pit, the dry grass and the wood.

"Since when were you a caveman?" she croaked.

"Dutchy make fire," he grunted playfully, "Make pretty lady warm." Kate snorted in ill-concealed amusement.

Dutchy used the pocket knife to cut apart the hunk of fungus. The bottom was white and fairly hard like wet wood, but the top was like a shell. He cracked it off in bits to get to the layer underneath. Just beneath the shell surface of the bracket fungus was a spongy, fibrous layer called amadou, which, when roughed up with the edge of a knife until it becomes fluffy, is perfect for use as tinder. He cut out a good chuck of it and scraped at it until there was a nice fluffy wad of it about the size of his thumbnail. It wasn't nearly as dry as he'd have like it to be, but he'd have to make it work – there was no time to waste drying it out. He held the amadou against the side of the flint, right next to its sharpest edge, then struck the edge with the back of the steel knife, striking again and again until he started to make sparks.

"Come on . . . come on . . ." he muttered. Finally one of the sparks landed on the amadou, and it burned. It was just an ember, glowing softly, but this was all he needed. He quickly placed the ember into a ball of the dry grass and blew harshly onto it. The ember glowed brighter and brighter. The ball started to smoke. Kate straightened up, eyes wide. Dutchy kept blowing, and was rewarded when flames leapt out of nowhere and engulfed the grass. Dutchy tucked the burning ball amongst the twigs in the fire pit, adding more grass and blowing until the flames crackled and licked hungrily at the wood. After that the going was easy, and soon Dutchy had a roaring campfire going.

"I can't believe you actually managed that," Kate slurred. She was looking sleepy again and swaying slightly.

"Alright X, it's high time you got out of that wet gear," Dutchy said, beginning to unbutton his shirt. Kate looked at him. "Don't give me that look," he chastised, "You've been on survival courses. You know the rules in situations like this. Now hurry up, your fingers are almost as blue as your lips."

She tried to do as he instructed, but she was shivering too much. She managed to tug her t-shirt over her head, but her fingers were too numb to undo the button on her pants. She gave up with a frustrated growl. Dutchy, bare-chested and in the process of undoing his own pants, crossed the clearing to help. His heart jack hammered in his chest as he brushed her hands aside and fumbled with the button. Kate tensed up the moment he touched her, and screwed her eyes shut and turned her head.

"Hey!" he said sharply, "Look at me – Kate!" She opened her eyes, but remained tense and couldn't meet his gaze. He let go of her pants and raised his hand to her face.

Kate panicked, the situation all too familiar. All of a sudden her mind was filled with the memories of having her clothes yanked off of her, memories of hands wrapping around her throat and squeezing. She was overwhelmed with the fear of being choked, of having her air cut off until her lungs screamed and her eyes prickled and burned. She whimpered and flinched away from the hand coming at her. She could see _him_ looming over her. She squeezed her eyes tight shut again, waiting for the hands to close around her neck . . .

And almost screamed when fingers brushed her face. It took a few seconds to register the fact that the touch wasn't cruel. It wasn't hurting her; it was trying to soothe her. With this realisation came the realisation that someone was talking to her. She opened her eyes and saw not _him_, but Dutchy, looking at her concernedly. He was stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers, urging her to look at him. She became aware that he was holding her hand, and that her grip on him was so hard her knuckles were white.

"Are you back? Are you with me again?" he asked, ducking his head to peer into her face. She blinked, and nodded. Tears welled unbidden in her eyes. "Don't you dare," he said. She blinked again, confused. "I know what you were just thinking," he challenged, "and I'm telling you don't. You have nothing to be afraid of when you're with me, got it? I would never, _ever_ hurt you. Don't you dare forget that."

She nodded mutely, his stern tone surprisingly comforting. Assuring.

"If you're not comfortable being touched that way, then that's fine," he said, taking both her hands between his and rubbing them rigorously, "But I won't stand for you being afraid of me, or jumping at shadows. When you're with me, you think about _me._ Not _him_. You don't be afraid. Got it?"

She responded well to his tone, as he knew she would, straightening up and blinking back her tears. She met his gaze, the fear in her eyes replaced by fire. She looked beaten down but determined.

"Good. Hands warm enough now?" Sure enough, his ministrations had warmed her frozen hands enough that she could struggle out of her pants unaided. Dutchy turned his back and walked away, giving her what little privacy they could afford. He built a clothes line by jamming two long sticks with Y-shaped forks at the top into the ground, then placing another bough horizontally between them, balanced in the Y-forks. He split lianas, which were thin, flexible woody vines that grew up directly from the ground, and used them as twine to secure the sticks together. He hung their wet clothes from the structure, which was just far enough away from the fire that their clothes wouldn't catch alight. He stuck four more thick sticks deep into the ground around the fire pit and placed a boot upside down on each one, having first stuffed them with spongy, absorbent moss to stop them shrinking. Kate had shuffled closer to the fire and was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wound around her legs. She felt horribly exposed, sitting there in her bra and panties, but there was nothing that could be done. Dutchy did what he could to not make it worse, giving her plenty of space and not staring. It had to be said that he made a funny sight, tramping around the jungle in his boxers. At least they were both warming up now.

It seemed that Dutchy hadn't yet finished playing the caveman, for he was wandering from one end of their makeshift camp to the other, collecting things again. He looked for certain types of saplings, choosing ones that grew out of the ground in clumps of long narrow shoots rather than traditional thick trucks. He snapped off endless branches, picking ones that were all a little over a meter in length and had plenty of leafy offshoots growing all along their length. He made a huge pile of them, then found some thicker, longer branches, these with Y-shaped forks in the top like those he'd used for the clothes line. He chopped the ends into points and dug them deep into the ground at an angle so that they met at the Y-forked tops and made a triangle with the ground. He built two of these, about two meters apart, then balanced another branch between them just like with the clothes line. He lined dozens and dozens of the thin, leafy shoots along each side, leaning them against the horizontal cross-bar until he'd made an A-frame shelter, much like a traditional tent. He secured it all with stripped stinging nettle fibres and lined the floor inside with dead leaves and moss before stepping back and observing his work.

"There you go, X," he said, looking proud of himself, "Home sweet home. One top notch jungle bivvy, if I do say so myself."

Kate had to admit that she was impressed with his bushcraft skills. It all seemed to come naturally to him.

"Where'd you learn all this? It wasn't in any of the Navy courses I went to."

"I picked up a lot as a kid," he said mildly, going over to the clothes line to see how the drying was getting on, "I spent almost all my spare time outdoors. My dad always encouraged it. He said the fresh air and the exercise would make me grow up big and strong." He smiled fondly at the memories.

"I don't think it worked," Kate joked, observing Dutchy's rippling muscles as the firelight flickered over them. He chuckled. Their clothes had dried off and were toasty warm, if a little dirty. Dutchy tossed Kate her tee and pants, and once they were both dressed again he forced her to put on his button-up shirt as well, since he still had his tee and insisted that she needed it more because she was smaller, and would get cold much more quickly. She bristled at being called small, but put it on anyway. Naturally it swamped her, and she had to roll the sleeves up just so that her fingers could poke out.

Now warm and dry, they both started to feel acutely drowsy. Their muscles ached to the point where it hurt to move, and both felt like they had spent several sleepless days in a giant washing machine. Neither really wanted to leave the fireside, but the storm was still raging outside, furious that they were now out of reach beneath the canopy. But there was still a chilling wind and sporadic rainfall reaching them, and Dutchy sighed and said they should try and get some rest before the sun came up. He crawled into the bivvy, flopping down on the soft mattress of leaves and moss with an exaggerated sigh of relief. Kate peered in after him doubtfully.

"Couldn't you have made it a little more . . . roomy?" she muttered. Dutchy lay on his back with his fingers laced beneath his head.

"It's meant to be like this," he said, not opening his eyes, "The smaller the shelter and the closer the occupants, the warmer it is. Come on, there's plenty of room for both of us."

This wasn't strictly true. Dutchy's massive form took up a lot of the space, and he wasn't making a whole lot of effort to make room. Kate figured he wanted her close out of some bizarre protective impulse, and to share warmth. She was glad it was too dark in there for her blush to be visible. She crawled in next to him, creating as much space between them as possible and turning her back on him. She heard him snort in amusement, and harrumphed. After a moment her discomfort faded, replaced by something she couldn't identify. Whatever it was, it put a lump in her throat and tears in her eyes.

"Dutchy?"

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

"For what?" he rumbled.

"For being so . . . strong. You were amazing tonight."

"That's what all the ladies tell me," he chuckled. Kate felt her cheeks heat up and she blindly jabbed an elbow backwards, catching him in the ribs.

"Ow!" he exclaimed. She could hear the smile that lingered in his voice.

"I'm serious," she said softly, "If it weren't for you . . . I owe you my life."

There was a pause, and then a handful of soggy leaves were dumped on her head.

"Go to sleep, ma'am," he said as, outraged, she swiped the leaves out of her hair and threw them back at him.

Nothing more was said, and within thirty seconds exhaustion had dragged them down into deep, heavy slumbers.

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	8. Should You Be Bleeding?

**PREVIOUSLY (because I know there are plenty of you out there who can barely remember reading the last chapter or even what this story is about, on account of the criminally long time it's been since I updated): Bomber wasn't able to rescue the X from the fisherman who assaulted her after the X was poisoned and they were captured. After the Hammersley rescues them, Swain attempts to treat the X and Dutchy stands guard. They're caught in a storm, and the ship's experiencing some serious technical difficulties. The X wakes up, panics, and runs on deck. She and Dutchy are washed overboard by the storm, and end up stuck on an island.**

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Swain emerged from the galley, coffee cup in hand, and yawned. It had been one _rough_ night. It turned out that the problem with the engines and the generator hadn't been as resolved as they'd first thought. After the equipment came back online it had worked perfectly for an hour or two, but then, without warning, it had started to malfunction again. The generator began to putter, making the lights flicker and fade in and out, and the engine had begun to struggle. Things started to fail one after another, and Charge was working flat out just to keep the engines working at a quarter capacity. The ship was buzzing, the entire crew working at the rush just to keep the ship moving. Two-Dads was awake and issuing instructions to a whole team of sailors working on the electronics in his stead. At least they were beginning to leave the storm behind. That was something.

Swain had been working just as hard, and this was the first moment of quiet he'd had in hours. The CO had sent him to get himself a brew after he'd yawned one time too many. The galley was strangely quiet compared to the hustle and bustle of the rest of the ship. Not many of the crew could find the time to stop long enough for tea or coffee. But now that he had a moment away from the bridge, the medic's mind turned, not for the first time, towards the ward room. He felt somewhat guilty over not checking on the XO in a while. But he'd been so _busy_. Knowing he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else now that the thought was stuck in his mind, he headed for the ward room. He expected to find Kate asleep, just as when he'd last seen her, and Dutchy standing guard in the corner. But the room was surprisingly empty. At first he thought the XO had gone to the head, and Dutchy had escorted her there, but on closer inspection he realised that the X's boots were gone and her IV had been ripped out and left on the bed. If she'd gone to the toilet she would had taken the IV stand with her, surely? It had wheels for that very purpose, after all. Swain frowned, absently swirling the coffee around in his cup until it spilled and burned his hand. He switched hands and shook off the cooling liquid, ignoring the sting. The detached IV nagged at him. He couldn't think why it had been taken out again, unless she was having another panic attack. But then where were they?

Too worried to drink, he dumped his coffee in the sink and left the mug there, heading straight for the bridge. No one he met along the way had seen either Dutchy or the XO since they'd returned from the FFV the day before.

The CO was in his chair on the bridge, issuing a rapid stream of orders. Swain went to stand at his side and spoke subtly in his ear.

"Sir, I can't find the X or Dutchy, and no one seems to have seen them in a while."

"Well when did you last see them?" Mike said, lowering his voice to match the Petty Officer's.

"It's been so busy what with the engine problems that I haven't had a chance to check on them in several hours, sir. Last time I checked the X was stable and resting, and Dutchy was there to keep an eye on her. I assumed he'd alert me if there were any problems."

"But now they aren't in the sick bay?"

"No sir. The XO's boots were missing and her IV had been removed. Again."

Mike picked up the broadcast system handset and made an announcement to the ship, "Petty Officer Mulholland report to the bridge at the rush."

They waited for two minutes, hearts sinking more with each second that ticked by with no sign of Dutchy. When the two minute were up Mike made another announcement.

"Lieutenant McGregor and Petty Officer Mulholland, bridge, at the rush. Any of the ship's company who believes they know the whereabouts of these personnel, report to the bridge."

In the next moment he was making orders for a Williamson turn and sending out crew members to search the ship.

"You think they might have gone overboard, sir?" Swain asked.

"Neither came in to ask permission to go outboard last night, but if they did go out on deck during that storm then there's every chance they could have been washed overboard and no one would have noticed. We've got no time to waste here; we're going to have one hell of a search area on our hands."

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The first thing she registered was a heavenly warmth playing across her face. As she opened her eyes and blinked away the sleep, she was presented with dazzling flecks of golden sunlight pouring through a leafy ceiling over her head. The light seeped through the leaves until they glowed like stained glass. Her ears were filled with the sounds of distant waves and the wind through the trees and a gentle chorus of birdsong. It was like paradise.

A violent snore erupted from somewhere to her left and ripped through the peacefulness like a chainsaw. Kate shot upright and smacked her head on a branch, making the whole shelter tremble. Rubbing the sore spot she stared in shock and confusion at Dutchy, who lay next to her, asleep.

"What the . . . ?" she whispered to herself, incredulously. For a moment she hadn't a clue what was going on or where she was, but then it all came rushing back to her, the images playing backwards like a film in rewind. The island. The endless swim. Falling over board, the storm, the sick bay, the FFV, the . . .

Kate squeezed her eyes shut and willed the images to stop. She didn't feel like crying this time. What had happened on the boat seemed like a million miles away from this place. So much had happened since then that it didn't feel like yesterday. It felt like weeks ago, months even. She didn't feel afraid and panicked like she had before. No, now she just felt wrung out, empty. The euphoria and energy of waking up somewhere so peaceful had dissipated with the return of reality. Kate pulled her knees up to her chest, feeling oddly and inexplicably lonely.

Deciding to prove that she wasn't as useless in the jungle as she'd appeared the day before, she crawled out of the leafy shelter, leaving Dutchy to his snoring. The storm had either moved on or blown itself out, but unfortunately so had their fire. She poked at it with a stick until she found some weak embers and blew on them until they glowed, then started adding bracken and wood until the fire was burning again. Feeling please with herself she retrieved her boots, which were now dry, and wandered off into the trees to collect more wood. Her first thought was too collect as much dry wood as she possibly could and start a signal fire on the beach. This she knew how to do without Dutchy's guidance. Distress signal fires were supposed to be grouped in threes and arranged in a triangle shape. She'd need lots of dry wood to produce and fast –burning, hot flame and evergreen branches to produce thick white smoke that could be seen from miles away. Ideally it would be best to put oil-soaked rags or rubber on the fire to create thick black smoke, but in this case white smoke would have to do. Once she had a good sized pile of dry wood in their makeshift camp she started carrying it, load by load, out onto the beach and dumping it a few meters above the high tide mark. Hopefully, out here in the open, it would be seen by passing ships. When she'd taken all the wood out to the beach she started hunting for more. It took a while for her to realise she was being watched.

"What are you doing?"

Kate spun around to face the source of the voice. Dutchy was leaning against a tree near their bivvy, yawning and watching her with mild interest.

"Building some signal fires," she puffed, pushing her hair off her sweaty brow, "You want to give me a hand?"

He looked at the pile of sticks she was staggering beneath and smirked. He strolled up to the wood she'd collected and gathered up a bundle easily three times the size of hers and waltzed off with it in his arms, whistling cheerfully. She watched him go.

"Show-off," she muttered.

With Dutchy's help the going went a lot quicker, and before long they had three reasonably sized fires burning on the sand. Arranged in a triangle and letting off thick plumes of white smoke, they should serve as a distress signal to any passing ships or helicopters. Should. And hopefully the Hammersley would be looking for them.

Exhausted and sweaty, they flopped down in the cool shade of the tree line, squinting out to the horizon.

"Think anyone will see?" Kate sighed. Dutchy grunted, digging a splinter out of his thumb. Kate absentmindedly took his hand and got it out for him with her longer nails and nimble fingers. For a few minutes they sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Kate gouged holes in the sand with a stick. Dutchy made a vague attempt at sharpening his pocket knife on a wet rock. Eventually his tossed the rock away in disgust.

"Mate, I'm _starving_," he groaned, flopping onto his back. Kate twisted to look at him.

"What happened to Crocodile Dun-Dutchy?" she said. Dutchy smirked. "Come on, I bet there's loads of bush tucker growing out here."

"Yeah, you're right. But I know something better than fruit salad." He jumped up and strode off, leaving her to scramble after him. A short walk up the beach brought them to some rock pools and shallow surf. He tugged off his boots and rolled up his pants legs and was soon wandering around the pools and digging in the sand. Kate quickly caught the drift of what he was doing and followed suit. They dug a hole further up the beach and filled it with the fruit of their labours. An hour later they were soggy and baked in the sun, but they had a nice collection of clams, limpets, mussels, scallops and various other molluscs. They took them back to the signal fires and heated up rocks to cook on. Dutchy collected nettle leaves and baked them between the hot stones, and after some persuading got Kate to eat some. It wasn't exactly gourmet, but it was filling. Kate's mind drifted as they ate, her thoughts running away with her until her appetite was replaced by nausea. He must have noticed her change in mood, because he too went quiet, and stared awkwardly at anything but her as he chewed. Five minutes later the nausea had grown unbearable, along with the pain in her lower abdomen that, up until now, she'd been managing to ignore. At a loathe to vomit in front of the bosun again, she stood and made for the tree line, the pain forcing her to bend double so that she had to stagger blindly up the beach, kicking up sand into her own eyes. She slumped against the first tree she came to, hanging onto it just to stay upright while her stomach emptied itself of everything she'd just eaten. Her cries of pain as her tender muscles contracted came out as choked moans, punctuated by heaving coughs. She didn't even notice Dutchy behind her until his arm came around her ribs and her hair was pulled back away from her face. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but even once the heaving had stopped she was too winded to speak. He held on until he was sure she was done, then guided her away to sit against another tree. He moved away for a few moments, and she let her head drop heavily so she could hide behind her hair. Surreptitiously, she raised a hand and used the sleeve of Dutchy's shirt to dry her cheeks and rub the salty wetness from her eyes. He reappeared in her limited field of vision, crouching before her and pushing her hair back on one side. With his other hand he held something to her lips; a fruit of some description, split open with a rock and glistening wetly. Her ears weren't working properly, his voice muffled as though she were underwater. Her hands, shaking, came up to cover his and hold the fruit steady while she sucked up some of the too-sweet juice. It was sticky and the supply exhausted all too soon, but what little of it there was soothed her burning throat and helped clear the rancid taste out of her mouth. She pushed his hand away and brought her knees up to her chest, hugging them and hiding her face once more. She still hadn't caught her breath, and now she felt more tears welling and a lump in her throat. Dutchy was still crouched awkwardly in front of her, but she couldn't find her voice to ask him to leave her alone. So instead so opted to wait silently, refusing to look at him until he went away. But he didn't move, and after just a few seconds the screaming pain below her stomach forced her to let go of her knees in favour of hugging her midriff and rocking. An involuntary groan rumbled deep in her throat. A sweat broke out on her forehead, and her ears started to ring. She jumped at the feel of hands on her, but she kept her eyes squeezed shut and just moaned in protest. Dutchy was tugging at her arms, pulling them away from her torso so he could fight his shirt off of her. It never crossed her mind to wonder what he was doing; all she could think was that she hurt _all over._ Then the pesky hands were gone, and she grabbed her stomach again and tipped onto her side. Moments later the hands were back, pulling her hands away again and pushing at her knees to get her to uncurl. She moaned and tried to stay as she was, but Dutchy won the fight and something incredibly warm, almost too hot, was pressed against her lower belly and held there. She tried to roll away, but hands held her still. Minutes passed, and the heat seeped deep into her flesh, soothing. Incredibly, the pain lessened. Clarity returned, and she slowly became aware of what was happening. She was pinned with her back against his knees, curled up as much as possible with his hand and the warm thing in the way. Somewhere along the way she'd started to hyperventilate, and her breathing was just now returning to normal. Her lungs still heaved from the strain. Dutchy's hand rested on her head, his thumb stroking her temple. His other hand held the warm thing, whatever it was, against her abdomen. In her attempt to clutch at the area of pain her two hands where pressed over his big one, she could feel his fingers beneath her palm. Slowly, she opened her eyes and glanced down. The heat was coming from a large, flat rock, taken from one of the fires and wrapped in the shirt she'd been wearing. A makeshift hot water bottle. Crude, but it was succeeding in dulling the pain at least enough for her to think clearly. And for her hearing to return.

"X?" Dutchy was repeating her name, sounding panicked.

"I'm okay," she groaned, making no attempt to sit up.

"X, you're bleeding. Should you be bleeding?" he gabbled. She shifted just enough to glance down and take in the dark stain between her legs. She watched for a moment to see if it would grow, then let her head drop back down with a grunt. It was small, and wasn't getting any bigger. It couldn't be that serious.

"X?"

"It's alright," she muttered, still gasping for breath, "I probably just need stitches or something. It's stopped. It's not that bad."

"You mean it's because of what _he_ . . . it's not because of . . ."

"I shouldn't be bleeding, no," she said, her voice flat and emotionless, "It is because of what he . . . what he did to me, yes. But it's not that bad. Whatever it is, it'll probably heal itself."

Despite her calm tone, her fingers had curled around his hand in a death grip. She was still in pain despite the hot rock, and couldn't make herself move. He took her hands and placed them firmly over the rock, telling her to hold it in place, and pulled her curled up body into his arms. She moaned at the disturbance but let him, too distracted to resent the idea of being carried around. As he took her back into the shade of the forest she was lulled by the gentle rocking motion of his arms as he walked, and by the time he was placing her on the leafy mattress that was the floor of their little jungle tent she was almost asleep. He fussed over her for a few moments, arranging the soft leaves and moss into a pillow beneath her head, making sure the heated rock was still snug against her screaming muscles. When she finally lost consciousness, he was still there. The last thing she knew was the sensation of him lightly stroking her hair.

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	9. You Can't Pretend It Didn't Happen

He wanted to stay with her for longer, but after she'd slept soundly for half an hour he forced himself to get up and venture out into the trees. He really needed to search the island, on the off-chance that it might be inhabited. For all they knew, there could be a little holiday resort or a research facility or _something_ out there somewhere. He had to hope. But for now, he couldn't go far. Couldn't leave for too long. He didn't want to be too far away if she woke up while he was gone. But they were going to need water. Clean, fresh water. So he needed to leave the X behind, on her own and sleeping, while he searched for water.

He found a means of carrying it before he actually found the water. After nearly ten minutes of wandering inland he stumbled into a vast patch of running bamboo. This kind of bamboo is a force to be reckoned with. If nature couldn't find a way to stop it, the tall stalks, each thicker than his considerable bicep, would quickly overrun the little island, consuming all the space and light and nutrients until every other plant was eradicated. Following that, the insects and animals would start to die, the food chain interrupted, until eventually the entire ecosystem of that tiny spit of land collapsed, all because of one simple plant. But it was this same plant that was going to keep the two stranded sailors alive. Because it was bamboo, and it was hollow, and it was water tight, and it was fire resistant. And it was _exactly_ what they needed. The notches on the outside were where the bamboo was split into segments. Each notch represented a barrier on the inside of the hollow shafts, which could serve as seals to keep water inside. Like long, narrow buckets. With the aid of his pocket knife and a fist sized rock he managed to chop down one of the wider stalks and hack it into the lengths he wanted. When he had a hefty pile of hollow tubes he bound them together with lianas and slung the bundle over his shoulder, feeling considerably more optimistic than half an hour ago. Now all he had to do was actually find some water, and their biggest survival problem was solved. After that, all that was left was to find a way to get off the island.

As the bosun continued his wandering search, his mind inevitably did some wandering of its own. With nothing to distract him, the impact of what had happened on the beach that morning started to really hit him. Her cries of agony echoed through his mind, the image of her curled in pain, with tears making tracks through the dirt on her cheeks, haunted him. Had she moaned and whimpered in pain like that, when that scumbag had hurt her? Had she cried, her eyes shut tight against the reality of what was happening? Had it hurt back then like it did just now? Somewhere on the surface of his mind, Dutchy registered that he'd sunk to the ground against a tree, unable to walk or even stand any longer. All he could think about was the X writhing in pain, fighting him as he tried to help her in any little way he could. It wasn't going to be okay. Just finding water and bamboo and shellfish wasn't enough. She was hurt. Damaged, to what extent he had no way of knowing. What if she was torn and bleeding inside? What if her ribs were fractured or her windpipe half crushed? He knew she'd never voluntarily tell him. She was too independent. She needed to be in a hospital. She should have been in a hospital hours ago. But instead she was stranded on a miniscule island with him. He, who could do practically nothing to help her while they waited to be found by people who had no idea whatsoever where they were. The Hammersley must have noticed they were gone by now, but that did no good if they didn't know when or where or how they'd gone missing. It could be days, weeks even, before they were found by anybody. He couldn't stop the thought that entered his mind – the situation seemed hopeless.

An hour later he was feeling a little more cheerful. He'd found a freshwater stream and, after washing all the saltiness off his skin and out of his t-shirt, had filled as many of his bamboo containers as he could carry. After several trips back to collect more he had a whole mini-forest of hollow bamboo tubes, of varying sizes, all waiting to be set over the campfire to boil and purify their contents. He covered the open ends with large, rubbery leaves and tied them on with nettle cords, like jam jars, and once they were boiled he set them aside to cool. Somewhere along the route to the stream he'd found broad-leaf brambles growing, and filled his pockets with the sweet berries each time he passed them. The sight of the juicy little berries had given him an idea of something to cheer Kate up with when she woke. The last time he went to check on her he wasn't sure if she was sleeping or just pretending in order to avoid moving. He'd re-heated her hot rock and got her to drink some still-warm water, but she'd barely even opened her eyes. Between boiling the water and checking on Kate, he'd made frequent trips down to the beach to feed the signal fires and scan the horizon for ships, with poor results. But he had to keep finding things to do, because the moment his mind was unoccupied the haunting images of the X in pain, or unconscious and deathly, came rushing back to hit him like a ton of bricks. Whenever he had nothing else to do he sat a few feet from the entrance to the bivvy, where he could watch Kate, and twisted more nettle fibres into cord. By the time the sun had passed its apex in the sky, the tubes of water had all cooled to match the temperature of the air and Dutchy had the beginnings of an honest-to-god spool in his lap. Kate was still dozing on and off, pointedly refusing to acknowledge that he was watching her. He'd retrieved his shirt, which had been blackened with ash from the hot rock, and washed it with hot water in case she wanted to wear it later. It was hung over the drying rack by the fire, long since dried out. Her little surprise was waiting in one of the bamboo tubes, but he'd decided he'd wait until she chose to get up. A little reward for summoning the energy to face the world.

It had been over a day since his last meal on the Hammersley, and since then all Dutchy had eaten was baked nettles and shellfish that morning. Hence, his stomach was growling. He'd thought of a way to get food earlier that morning, and set it up, but now he was putting off going to see if his plan had worked. The idea had been sketchy at best, and he wasn't sure what he'd do next if it hadn't worked. So he'd been ignoring it, much as Kate had been ignoring his gaze.

He came to the end of the most recent bit of nettle cord, tied it off and tossed it down with the rest. He toyed with the idea of going down to the beach again, but it'd only been ten minutes since his last trip. Sighing, he resigned himself to traipsing back up to the stream to see if his idea had worked. On arrival at the water's edge, he was pleased to see that the lianas he'd strung across from one bank to the other were at least still in place. Squinting through the glittering surface of the water, he thought he saw dark shadows, and his heart sped up a little. Had it really worked? Splashing excitedly into the middle of the stream, not giving a damn how wet he got, he knelt to examine the first of the four lines. Each line, strung horizontally above the surface of the water, had several thinner lines made of nettle cord dangling down into the water, at regular intervals across the stream. At the end of each nettle line was an acacia thorn, serving as a hook, which had at one point during the day held a squirming worm. Altogether there were twelve thorn hooks, on twelve nettle lines, which hung from four lianas stretched across the stream at intervals totally twenty feet. And by the time he'd examined all the lines and pulled them all onto the bank he had three fair sized fish. Using only nettles and thorns, he'd caught three fish. Dutchy grinned. Charge was going to be _sick_ with jealousy!

Dutchy killed the fish and reset the fishing lines, and strolled back to base camp with his haul, unable to hide the slight swagger.

Back at the camp, he looked in on Kate, who at least _seemed_ to be sleeping, then de-scaled and gutted the fish, buried the gash, stuffed the fish with nettle leaves, wrapped them in larger leaves and buried the resulting packages in the hot ash under the fire. Feeling immensely proud of himself, he gathered up an armful of wood and made a quick trip back to the beach. There was still no sign of any ships, but the signal fires were still going strong and he wasn't going to let the lack of rescue dampen his good mood. It had been less than a day, after all. Someone would come, eventually.

A little later he checked on the fish baking in the hot ash, and decided they were cooked enough. Which meant it was time for Kate to get up, even if he had to drag her out of the shelter.

"X?" He got no response as he peered into the entrance. Flecks of light burst between the leaves and danced across her hair. "X, I know you're awake. Nobody sleeps that long unless they're in a comfy bed and extremely hung over."

"Uhhh, m'tired . . ." came the faint protest. She shifted slightly, burying her face in the crook of her elbow.

"I know you are, but you have to eat–"

"Oh god no, not again!"

"Yes, you do. So shellfish didn't agree with you. That's okay. Just wait 'til you see what the master chef got for you this time."She didn't move, just made a faint grumbling sound and went quiet. His voice dropped in warning, "X . . ." Still no movement. He grabbed her feet and pulled, and she slid neatly out of the shelter with a yelp, dragging half of the 'bedding' with her. "Well, look who's out of bed!" Dutchy said brightly, grinning at her scowl, "Since you're up, fancy some lunch?"

"I hate you."

"I know."

Begrudgingly, she followed him over to the campfire and watched as he served up his catch.

"How on earth did you catch those?"

"Well," he said, passing her a pile of tender fish and steaming, somewhat stewed nettles on a large, rubbery leaf, "If you can force yourself to face the sunlight long enough, I will show you the _genius_ that is Dylan Mulholland."

". . . Ew."

"Shut up. _Ma'am_."

She just smirked and popped a bit of fish in her mouth.

They ate in silence again, but it was more or less a contented silence. Dutchy presented her with his little surprise – a container of hot, sweet, brambleberry juice. She rewarded the gesture with a shy smile, and seemed to enjoy the homemade beverage. It was better that lukewarm river water at any rate. He was just glad to have seen a glimpse of the old X back again, even if it was only for a little while. She stopped eating after just a few small bites, despite his encouragements, but at least this time she didn't turn green. She insisted that she wasn't hungry, and in the end Dutchy finished her share just so it wouldn't be wasted.

After, he re-boiled one of the larger containers of water and took her out to the river. He pointed out his makeshift fishing lines, showed her a secluded spot to bathe, and gave her the flask of hot water so she could try and get the blood out of her clothes. He offered to wait out of sight in case she needed him, at which she snorted and pointed out that she was unlikely to suddenly so overcome with pain that she would drown in barely a foot of slow moving water. This seemed only to make him more worried, and a moment later she had sharply ordered him to go back to the beach.

"If I so much as hear a twig snap anywhere near this spot, I'll have you on watch duty for the rest of your life. You'll never see shore leave again. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said seriously, "I will make absolutely sure that I don't step on any twigs." He ducked away before she could smack him, and, laughing, headed out to check their signal fires again.

Kate waited several minutes, standing on tip toe and watching until she was sure he was gone. Then it was like she snapped, like a damn inside her broke and she had to sit before she fell. Her breathe rushed out of her as if she'd swum a mile underwater. Her mind reeled with the sheer ludicrousness of it. She'd slept practically all day, yet the effort of smiling and joking and just talking for barely half an hour made her feel as though she hadn't slept in a week. With leaden limbs she forced herself to her feet and walked fully clothed into the water, finding just enough forethought to toe off her boots and let Dutchy's shirt flutter to the ground where it was dry. The chilling water instantly raised goose bumps all over her, reawakening the flesh-crawling feeling of hands touching her – _his_ hands touching . . .

Ignoring the bite of the cold, she sank down and let herself slide under the surface. She stayed there, eyes squeezed shut, until her lungs screamed in protest and her blood pounded like an earthquake in her skull. She surfaced, gasping, tears mixing with the water so that they couldn't be seen. Then she pushed the emotion down, and firmly grasped the hem of her shirt.

She wasn't sure what she expected to see when she stripped away her clothes and observed her own skin. Red marks where he'd touched her, scores of bruises in the shapes of hands, something like that. In truth, there weren't many bruises. Few that she could actually remember getting. She'd been too weak at the time from the cyanide poisoning; she hadn't put up all that much of a fight. She traced the faint marks with her fingers. A little on her thighs, which she didn't want to think about. Some on her hip; she had a pretty good idea where they were from. Her breast. She remembered getting those bruises well enough. Her eyes drifted from her fingers to her wrists. Now they really were bruised. Livid purple rings, like twisted bracelets. She touched her throat, felt the tenderness there, and imagined it looked much the same. No wonder Dutchy had been looking at her strangely. She'd caught him looking at her several times, with his face hardened into a dark scowl. He never realised that she saw him, but she did. He was scowling at the marks. She'd seen the look many times before, right from the first day she met him. For a long time she'd thought it was because he disliked her. Now she knew better. Now she knew that it was an expression of pain, the kind of pain that no amount of medicine could ever stop.

She sighed, and spent the next fifteen minutes ridding her skin and clothes of all the itchy salt and dirt and grime. She made a vague attempt at getting rid of the bloodstains with the hot water in the bamboo container, but knew that it wasn't going to do much good. The marks faded, but she'd never be able to get rid of them properly without soap. Finding that she didn't really care if she had to walk around in bloodied clothes, she got out of the water and dressed in Dutchy's shirt, which was still dry, and thanks to Dutchy, reasonably clean. She jammed her feet back into her boots, collected the bundle of her wet clothes, and trampled wearily back to their camp. Dutchy wasn't back yet, so she hung her clothes on the drying frame and went to look for him, combing her fingers through her wet hair to get some of the knots out.

She found him sitting in the shade of the tree line, watching the horizon. The sea twinkled in the distance, as if it hadn't been a frothing raging monster the night before.

Dutchy craned his neck to look at her as she took a seat in the sand next to him. He took one look at her, dressed only in his shirt and her heavy combat boots, and snorted.

"Cute."

"I'm your senior officer. I am not 'cute'."

"Right."

"Shut up."

He just smiled and turned his gaze back to the horizon. After a moment, he sighed.

"So. How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Still in pain?"

"I'm fine."

"What about the bleeding, has it stopped?"

"Dutchy, I'm _fine._"

He turned to face her, and she steadily avoided his gaze. "X, you can't pretend it didn't happen. You have to talk to me." Still, she ignored him. "_Kate._" Her eyes shot up to meet his, shocked. He spoke softly. "Please talk to me."

She looked away, chewing on her lip. He thought that was it, she was shutting him down, but out of nowhere, so slowly it might have been acting of its own volition, her hand slid across the sand to touch his. Her hand didn't hold his, just rested there on the sand, fingers overlapping.

As he watched, she let out a long, shuddering breath.

"I don't remember . . . all of what happened. A lot of it is just a blur. We were escorting the FFV back to port . . ."

* * *

**You know what I'm going to ask. I got some great reviews for my last chapter, hence the reasonably prompt update. But you all know the drill. You gotta give a little to get a little. So PLEASE review!**

**Thanks for reading.**


	10. I Remember It

**Yes, it's been a while, but you all know how inspiration comes and goes.**

**Big big thank you to all of you that keep on reading and reviewing and reminding me that I have a reason to keep on posting. No alliteration intended. You know who you are.**

**Sorry for any typos or mistakes, but I had absolutely no will with which (more alliteration, darn it) to force myself to proof read _again_.  
**

**Without further ado . . .  
**

* * *

"_Please talk to me. You're not the only one who's scared, you know."_

_She looked away, chewing on her lip. He thought that was it, she was shutting him down, but out of nowhere, so slowly it might have been acting of its own volition, her hand slid across the sand to his. Her hand didn't hold his, just rested there on the sand, fingers overlapping._

_As he watched, she let out a long, shuddering breath._

"_I don't remember . . . all of what happened. A lot of it is just a blur. We were escorting the FFV back to port . . ."_

_

* * *

_

"Bomber and Two-Dads were in the wheel house, and I was keeping an eye on the vessel's crew, up on deck." Her eyes slid shut as her mind turned back to that fateful morning the previous day. "Bomber was heading up the operation, so I was taking a backseat role. She wanted to prove that she was leading seaman material. It was a simple task; take the FFV back to port where the proper authorities would pick up the crew. But those two were messing about, like they always do. I think Bomber was really trying to be professional about it, but Two-Dads was . . . well, Two-Dads was being Two-Dads. Anyway, I went to see when she'd last checked in with Hammersley, but as I stepped into the doorway she went to squirt him in the face with a bottle of water. He dodged it at the last second, and it hit me instead. I knew straight away that it wasn't water. It smelled like . . . marzipan, or almonds. Then my eyes were burning, and all I couldn't get any air in, like I'd been punched in the stomach. That's when it all got a bit . . . fuzzy. Somehow I ended up on the ground – I guess I fell. I could hear Bomber on the radio to you lot. Then I must have lost consciousness because the next thing I remember was being in the ship's storage cabin. I didn't really realise it at the time, but now that I think about it I can remember what it looked like from when we searched the boat, back when we first boarded it. Bomber and Two-Dads were talking, but I can't remember what about. I think Bomber was crying . . . I could feel her hand on my neck . . ." Her hand drifted to rub the spot below her jaw, remembering how the frightened young officer had tried to comfort her. "I think I lost consciousness again after that. When I came to there was this _huge_ guy kneeling over me, and I could breathe again. We'd moved by that point, transferred to another boat. There was a dirty grey canopy my head, but I could see a patch of sky over the guy's shoulder, so we must have just been brought on board. From what I understand, the guy was the master of the vessel. He'd given me a party drug which acted as an antidote." She paused, looking a little sad. "I'm pretty certain he was killed when part of the crew staged a mutiny. I honestly think he'd intended to let us live." She looked up, meeting Dutchy's eyes for the first time since she'd started to talk. "He was there, the captain, after it happened. After I got attacked. They put us in a storage room, like the one we were in on the smaller vessel. I was lying on a pile of sacks . . . I think they had potatoes in them," her brow furrowed in concentration. "Two-Dads put me there when we got locked in. He knew what the captain had given me to help me breathe. Bomber just kept telling me to relax, that it was going to be okay. She didn't sound like she believed anything she was saying. God, my head was _pounding_. The guy who assaulted me came in with two of his lackeys and the carried me out of the cabin. Bomber and Two-Dads tried to stop him, but . . ." she shook her head wordlessly. Her chin sank onto her chest, her hair falling forward to cover her face in a fashion that Dutchy had become familiar with. He got ready for the worst of the story to unfold.

"They took me to another cabin, and put me on a bunk. I remember that the dirty white paint on the ceiling was flaking off, and there was a pile of old rope in the corner. I remember it because the room was spinning so much that I had to stare hard at it to stop myself from being sick. He sent his two henchmen away, and then we were alone."

She stopped, staring blindly down at her knees. Her voice had thickened and begun to shake. She took a deep breath, and after a pause gave a long, shuddering exhale. Dutchy turned his hand over to hold hers, but she pulled away and wrapped her arms around her knees. He tried not to get frustrated over the rejection. He understood how she might need a lot of space for the next part.

"He came and sat next to me on the bunk. I had closed my eyes, but I felt the mattress dip. He tried to intimidate me when I tried to resist by . . . by choking me and h-holding my wrists down . . . And I was too w-weak to fight him off, I was t-too weak . . ."

"Shh . . . it's okay. Then what happened?"

"He assaulted me. I had to lie there while he . . . pulled my clothes off and pawed me with his filthy hands." Her lip curled in disgust, and she raised a hand to swipe angrily at her wet cheeks. "Then he climbed on top of me, and I blacked out."

"And that's the last thing you remember before waking up on the Hammersley?"

". . . No. No, I woke up one more time before then. That was when I saw the captain in the room. I came to because he was shouting. The other guy, _he_ was still on top of me . . . i-inside of me. But the captain had walked in and seen what was happening, and he was _furious_ about it. He pulled the guy off me and threw him into the wall. He turned to me, to pick me up I think, but the other guy got up and pulled out a gun. He filled the captain's chest with bullets and shouted for the others. They'd heard the shots, and came in to drag the captain outside. That's when the fighting started. I heard more shots up above, on deck. The man who assaulted me left last. He had to go and head up the coup, but he was pissed. I remember seeing him leave, and being alone. The one thought that I had before I passed out for the last time was that the captain had died because he was trying to protect _me_, who by all logic should have been his enemy. And even though he was too late to save me, he did manage one small victory. He arrived just early enough that the bastard never got to . . . you know. _Finish_. But it's strange, isn't it?" She looked up at him, eyes glistening, "That he even cared? The captain I mean. We were going to shut his business down, have him arrested and in all likelihood deported. He should have hated me, all of us. But he still tried to protect me."

"Just because a person does something bad, doesn't mean they're _incapable_ of doing something good. Right? Some people are good despite what they do. But the man who did _this,_ the man who hurt you, he wasn't one of those people. He was evil, all the way though. But he can't hurt you again. He won't get anywhere near you again, ever."

"Yeah," she gasped, throwing her head back breathlessly and shaking, "But I still see him. I see him Dutchy, every time I close my eyes. I can't _stop_ seeing him . . ."

"Shh, it's alright. You did well, X. You did really well. You don't have to think about it anymore, it's alright. Shh . . ." he soothed, shifting closer and wrapping one arm around her shoulders. After a moment, her hand snaked out grasp his, squeezing tightly as she tried to suppress sobs.

* * *

They spent the afternoon looking for ships again, but were astounded and discouraged when not a single one came into sight. At one point Kate slipped back up to the camp to put her now-dry t-shirt and pants back on. She offered Dutchy his shirt back, but he waved her off, telling her she might as well keep it. She soon came to appreciate the extra layer, thin though it may be, for after the sun set the temperature dropped and the wind picked up with a bite, and soon after that it was raining and they were driven back under the cover of the trees. The wind blew from a different direction that night, and now the rain was able to find its way through the canopy to the forest floor below. It spat and hissed in the campfire until the flames had died to embers and no amount of wood could revive them. At this point Dutchy got up and started piling more leafy branches onto the shelter, trying to eliminate as many gaps as possible. Kate had been curled up by the fire in the same position for a while, her arms wound tight around her legs. She was hot to the touch; it seemed like the remnants of her fever had returned, almost as though in a show of defiance to the bitter cold. With it, Dutchy's concern also flared up, thoughts of the cyanide that she'd never been given real for, and the abuse her body had suffered at the hands of cruel men and a cruel sea, plagued him. She mumbled incoherently with her eyes closed as he jostled her undercover of the shelter, and when he crawled in next to her she rolled into his warmth. He froze, staring at her in surprise, but she was either asleep or too out of it to care whether or not she was being inappropriate. After a few moments, when she did nothing more than nuzzle her face into his chest and hug her arms around herself, he slowly let his own arms come to rest around her also. She was wonderfully warm and soft, so much so that he had to keep reminding himself to hold her gently and loosely, lest she woke a became upset. Presently, her mumbling ceased and her breathing deepened, and she looked peaceful at last.

* * *

**By the way, I could use your help with something. There's a song that plays during the recap at the beginning of 'The Right Stuff' and possibly a couple of other episodes. Upbeat, has violins or some other string instrument, and is incredibly familiar. But I have no idea what it is. And it's bugging the hell out of me. If anyone could tell me what it is I would be insanely grateful and would definitely update verrrrrry quickly.**

**Thanks for reading.**


	11. Guys, We've Got A Problem

**This isn't one of my better chapters, and in all honesty I'm really not very happy with it. But an update was long over due, so . . .**

* * *

"Charge, how long's it been since the lieutenant and the petty officer went overboard?"

"Could be anywhere between twenty-six and thirty-one hours, sir."

"There's no way they're still in the water after all that time . . ." Mike muttered to himself, staring out at the steadily darkening view from the bridge.

"Sir?" Charge said, stepping up beside him so they could talk more quietly.

"They won't have been able to tread water that long with the XO injured and weakened, and that storm blowing. Either they've been able to flag a boat to pick them up, which is unlikely because they haven't made contact, or they've managed to get to land."

"What if they got picked up but can't make contact?" It was clear what Charge was thinking, since Mike had entertained the exact same line of thought a number of times since the two sailors had gone missing. No one had forgotten the time Spider and Bomber went overboard and got picked up by a boat carrying a felon. They had been kept away from the radio so that the authorities wouldn't come and discover the murderer. But the chances of such a thing happening again had to be pretty slim. Or so Mike hoped.

"We can't rule it out, but I still think it's more likely that they managed to swim to land. There were a few small islands in the vicinity of our original course, and that storm means they could have drifted towards land masses even further away. It's time we started looking there."

"And if they are still in the water?"

"The search and rescue helicopters are still looking, and we're still sending out requests on all frequencies to civilian vessels. But if they are still in the water after all this time . . ."

"Then it's probably too late," Charge finished grimly. Mike nodded. If Kate and Dutchy were still in the open water, then they were probably dead.

"Better have a look at the charts then," the CO said, attempting to sound more confident now that they had a new plan of action. He and Charge moved over to the desk where they had the search area mapped out on a large chart.

"These," Charge began, circling a few islands in red dry wipe marker, "are the land masses closest to our original course between when Dutchy was last seen and when we realised they were missing. These are the ones we'll want to look at first. If you factor in typical currents, you can include these," he circled a few more in green, further out, "and then if you factor in the storm and the wind speed . . ." he circled a couple more in black, muttering to himself. He had been studying the charts almost religiously along with the navigator ever since they'd realised that the X and Dutchy had gone overboard. He'd felt a crushing sense of guilt about it; after all, he had been the one to keep the rest of the crew away from the sickbay. And apart from Swain he'd been the last to see either of them. Between studying the charts and working flat out to keep the engines running, he hadn't taken a break in almost a day. Despite being distraught and tearful over all that had happened, Bird had noticed and periodically brought him brews and snacks snuck from the galley. Since Two-Dads had been medivac-ed to hospital, it had also become her job to help maintain the somewhat temperamental electrical systems. Robert had been surprisingly useful in that respect.

"I reckon, we search all the red islands first, then the green and so on. If we start here," he tapped a mark on the map, "we can work our way outward in circles. This is the closest red island to our current position."

"Excellent work, Charge. How fast can the engines get us there?"

"I think, with a bit of encouragement she can get us there in about forty-five minutes, boss."

"And the next island after that?"

"Another hour and a half."

"Not a moment to lose then. Let's get going."

* * *

The first bit of land in their search plan was only a sand bar of about a hundred meters by forty. One good look through binoculars made it clear there was nothing and no one there, and they wasted no time in moving on. They had an almost impossible amount of searching to do, and every hour that passed decreased their chances of finding their sailors alive.

Now Charge stood port side of the driver of the RHIB as they powered across the water to their second island. This one was considerably bigger, and host to a considerable jungle. If the charts were accurate, the beach was near enough five kilometres long and the area of the entire island was two and a half square kilometres. That was a lot of ground to cover on foot, and they couldn't afford to spend more than a few hours there. Both RHIBs had been sent out with as many crew members as possible. The plan was to split off into groups of two to systematically cover as much of the island as possible in as little time as possible.

Charge looked to the bow of the boat and saw Bird there, looking as she so often did like a little humming bird, tense and practically vibrating with nervous excitement. She had begged the captain to let her go ashore with the search party, desperate to be as helpful as possible. At first he had refused, remembering how badly things had gone in the past. But she had reasoned that they weren't looking for or expecting any kind of trouble, they were just out to find their own people. There couldn't be much danger in that. Then she'd shamelessly turned her big, sorrowful eyes on him and he'd relented, admitting that they could use her extra sharp eyes now more than ever. It never ceased to amaze Charge how easily that kid could twist people around her little finger.

But Charge never got the chance to split the group off into their pre-arranged teams, for they hadn't even landed before a cry went up. The sand was disturbed. Someone had been walking on that beach. At once the original plan was scrapped. The island was meant to be uninhabited, so there was no way those footprints were meant to be there.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Charge said to Swain, having to lean in and raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the motor.

"Better call it in to Hammersley?" was the reply. Charge nodded. "Charlie-eight-two, this is Sierra-eight-two, are you receiving, over?"

"This is Charlie-eight-two. Go ahead, Swain, over."

"Boss, looks like we've got footprints on the beach. Permission to investigate? Over."

"Granted. If you don't find anything the notify me and go back to the original plan. Confirm. Over."

"Copy that, boss. Over and out."

As he spoke they reached the shore and three of the crew jumped into the shallows to drag the RHIB up onto the sand. A few yards away the second RHIB followed suit, just a few seconds behind. They'd barely made it three steps before Bird gave a cry and bounded over with something in her hand.

"Look what I found! It's got to be Dutchy's, right?" she gushed excitedly. It was a blue cap, emblazoned with the words 'HMAS Hammersley PB 82'. It was unmistakably one of theirs. "It was half buried in the sand over there; he must have dropped it. That's got to mean they're here, right?"

"Good spot, Bird, well done!" Swain grinned while Charge radioed in the find.

"Well, what are we hanging around here for? Let's go find them!" she practically sang, running up the beach in the direction the foot prints led.

"Hey, don't run off!" RO yelled, taking off after her. A moment later the whole shore party were following, all shouting for the XO and Dutchy.

* * *

With Charge and Swain in the lead, they followed the tracks straight into the jungle. Charge wasn't as good at tracking Dutchy was, and neither would have been a match for Buffer, had he been there. Nevertheless, these particular tracks weren't hard to follow, and barely two minutes later the trees opened into a clearing with obvious signs of habitation. A small campfire in the centre let off a few wisps of smoke, and the dirt around it was packed down with boot prints. More of the same boot prints were scattered around the entire clearing. There was no one there.

"Maybe they went off to get water or food?" Bomber suggested. They'd stopped at the edge of the clearing to survey the scene. They tried calling again, but got no answer.

"Wherever they are they must not be able to hear us. We should split up and keep moving." Charge said. Robert wandered a little farther around the edge of the campsite. Something felt off to him. Bird followed beside him, peering out into the trees.

"That's kind of a sloppy campfire, don't you think?" he muttered to no one in particular.

"Blimey, Ro, cut them a break, eh? Let's see you swim that far and still have the energy to build a masterpiece," Bomber defended from a few feet away, slipping her cap off her head and using it to waft the smoke away from her face, "But I tell you what, I don't know what they put on that fire, but it doesn't half stink."

Robert wasn't listening. He'd happened to have glanced down as he'd taken a step back, and something disquieting had caught his eye. As he'd stepped back he'd left a boot print alongside one of the prints that had been there when they'd arrived. As he looked at the two impressions in the dirt, he realised something. The patterns of the treads were different. They all wore the exact same standard issue combat boots. With the exact same, standard issue treads on the soles. Whatever shoe made this print, it was not a Navy boot. Just as he raised his head to voice his concern, Bird spotted something and pulled aside a branch to see. Both realised what it was at the same moment, and in an instant Robert clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream and dragged her backwards.

Bomber, too far away to see what they had seen, looked up angrily. "Ro, what the hell—"

"Guys, we've got a problem," he said quietly, continuing to back a shaking Bird away. Her hands clutched at his arm in a death grip and her eyes were huge and fixed helplessly on the spot where her find lay.

Charge moved cautiously to investigate, but when he saw the problem his face went pale and his voice immediately dropped to a whisper. "Christ . . . Swaino, get a look at this."

"Jeez . . ."

It was a dead body, worse than any they'd ever seen. Huge chunks of flesh were missing from the stomach and thighs, and where the belly had been hacked open bits of the intestines had spilled out onto the ground. Flies swarmed, attracted by the rancid stench. It couldn't have been there long, for it wasn't yet starting to rot, but somehow that made it worse. The mutilation was more obvious with none of the flesh around it rotting away.

Bomber came to see what had them all looking so sick, but one glance had her backing up fast. "Oh my god . . ."

"What happened to him?" Bird whispered. She was shaking head to toe, still holding tight to Robert's arm. Swain, holding his sleeve over his nose to take the edge off the smell, crouched down and shifted closer.

"He's been shot . . . looks like he bled out from bullet wounds to the chest, then someone came and . . ."

"You don't think . . . ?" Charge muttered. Swain looked up gravely, and nodded. They both looked over at the campfire. Charge stomped over to it and poked at the ashes with a stick. "Yep, there's still some of him in here."

"What do you mean, some of him's in the fire?" Bird whimpered.

"Someone ate him," Robert muttered darkly," Someone cut bits of him off and roasted him on the fire—"

Bird tore away from him and threw up behind a tree.

"For Christ's sake, Ro!" Bomber hissed as Swain went after Bird and tried to comfort her. Gingerly Bomber peered over at the body, squinting and tilting her head. Then she swore.

"Charge!" she hissed, calling him over. "I recognise this guy. He was one of the men on the FFV. He must have been shot during the mutiny."

"That probably means there's someone else from the FFV running around here somewhere."

"Oh god, what about Dutchy and the X? You don't think he got them too?"

"I think it's too early to panic. Bomber, radio Hammersley. We need to rethink things. I'm going have a look around, see if I can figure out how many people were here."

"Charlie-eight-two, this is Bravo-eight-two, are you receiving, over?"

"This is Charlie-eight-two. Go ahead Bomber."

"Sir we've got a problem. We found a camp and a dead body with evidence that it's been . . . cannibalised . . ."

"Say again, Bomber?"

"It's been cannibalised, sir. There's still some cooked flesh in the campfire." She sounded like she was struggling not to vomit.

"Any sign of the person that did this?"

"No, sir."

"And the X and Dutchy?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Alright, it's too dangerous out there now. I want you all to get back here at the rush. You need full tactical gear and weapons, so that when you start the search again you're well prepared for anything you may find."

"Okay, roger. Over and out, sir."

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**As always, thanks for reading.  
**


	12. Stay Here, Or Go?

**Short and sweet, just to keep the ball rolling.**

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Kate was getting seriously tired of sleeping in the shelter. As nice as it was to be warm, she was tired of waking up to find that Dutchy had rolled in the night and pinned her in place. This time her arm had gotten trapped under his massive torso, and the limb had inevitably fallen asleep. This had to be the only instance where enormous rippling muscles were a hindrance – he was just so _heavy_ . . . And to make things worse, she had a serious need to pee.

The sun hadn't quite come up yet, and heavy cloud cover blocked out any light from the moon. It wasn't often that Kate experienced such complete darkness. The only light was the dimmest glow from the embers of their campfire, but it was like they were in a tiny bubble and around them was nothing but darkness and emptiness. It was eerie.

She felt about with her free hand until she found Dutchy's shoulder, and pushed hard. She couldn't move him even an inch. "Dutchy!" she hissed, shoving at him again. He made a sort of rumbling moan and reached back to swat at whatever was interrupting his sleep. Her patience running low, she reached up and flicked his ear.

"Ow!" he groaned, rubbing his ear and looking at her over his shoulder, "What was that for?"

"You're on my arm." He stared sleepily at her, still rubbing his ear. She sighed. "Dutchy. _Move_." His brain finally caught up and he lifted himself so she could free her numb arm. She shifted away, shaking her hand to encourage the feeling to come back. Dutchy rolled over and seemed to go right back to sleep. She huffed, and crawled past him out of the shelter.

Outside the darkness seemed even more oppressive, and the cold made her grateful of Dutchy's oversized shirt. She blindly fumbled her way through the undergrowth until she was a decent distance from the camp.

A few minutes later, feeling relieved but relishing the meagre warmth of the shelter, she retraced her steps until she could see the faint hue of the campfire. But as she reached the edge of the little clearing a rustling sound stopped her in her tracks. Out of nowhere, she felt all the muscles along her back and neck tense up. She froze, straining her ears, but the only sounds was the wind in the trees and the ominous rumble of thunder far in the distance. Kate scurried back to the shelter, clambering all over Dutchy in her hurry to get out of the open air. She knew full well he would have been listening out for her from the moment she climbed out of the shelter, but he was doing a pretty good job of pretending to snore.

"Dutchy!" she whispered, once again hissing with urgency.

"What?" he grunted, neither moving nor opening his eyes.

"I heard a noise."

"Must be a burglar in the kitchen. You should go downstairs and check. Honey." He chuckled and shifted into a more comfortable position.

"Very funny," she muttered, throwing herself down as far away from him as possible. She felt silly, and that made her bad tempered. She shouldn't be getting spooked at rustling sounds in the jungle. It was the _jungle_. Jungles without rustles would be like the sea without salt.

Nonetheless, it took her a long time to fall asleep again.

* * *

"X. Time to wake up, X."

"Why?"

"Because it's morning. Conventionally, the time when people get out of bed."

"Technically I'm not in a bed, so I shouldn't have to move."

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, ma'am."

"I was afraid of that." Kate stretched and winced, immediately regretting it as all her sore spots awoke too. She rolled onto her back, blinking up at the leafy structure over her head.

Dutchy lay next to her, propped up on one elbow. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

She paused a moment to take stock and decide before answering. "Better, I think. Hey, did you hear that thunder last night?" She wasn't sure exactly why, but whenever he asked her how she was she got the immediate desire to change the subject as fast as possible. This time, he took the bait.

"Yeah. Looks like there's another storm headed our way. Which is why I was thinking, if you're up to it, we should take a better look around the island while we've still got the chance. Feel up to a bit of walking?"

"What d'you think we'd find?"

"Well, you know how some of these islands are sometimes used for meteorological surveys and stuff? What if there's a radio station or something around here? We've been here two whole days and no sign of a vessel of any kind. I think if we stick to the beach waiting for someone to find us we might be waiting a very long time. I reckon, if we head inland and find the highest point on the island, we might find a way of sending out a distress signal."

Kate puffed out a breath, thinking it over. "I don't know. It seems like a difficult hike for a very long shot. And if a boat does come by and we're not there to flag it down we might miss our only chance for a long time to get a lift out of here."

"If you're not up to it, that's alright. You can stay here and watch for boats."

The memory of getting spooked the night before by wind through the trees resurfaced in Kate's mind, and suddenly the idea of being left alone in the middle of nowhere was horrifying. She shook her head, buying herself time to stamp down the sudden rush of panic. "No, we should stick together. If one of us got injured there'd be no way for the other to know. We shouldn't split up."

"Alright then, it's your decision, X. Stay here, or go walkabout?"

"Okay, we'll do it your way. It's a small island, I think we can make it to the highest point before dark."

"You sure you'll be okay?"

"I know I look like a black and blue patchwork quilt, but I can walk. I may need a break more often than usual, but I can manage."

"If you're sure. Right, I'm going to get us something for breakfast, and something to take with us. Why don't you put covers on the bamboo that still have clean water in them? We should take some with us too."

"Okay."

Neither sailor moved. He was giving her that curious, magnetic stare that made her feel like he could see right inside her head. Normally it made her squirm with discomfort, but right now he was in the way of the only escape route, and she couldn't look away. He didn't seem to notice the seconds pass in awkward silence, too focused on whatever he was thinking to realise she was waiting for him to make the next move.

After a few long moments, she found her voice. "Dutchy?" she croaked.

He snapped out of it and ducked out of the shelter, whistling as he walked away as if he was truly unaware of what had just happened.

Kate's shoulders sagged as she let out a breath she'd only just realised she'd been holding in. One of these days she would figure out how he did that. How he could look at her like he was looking into her soul, like he knew every single thing she was thinking, and at the same time look as if he didn't understand her at all.

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**Thanks for reading.  
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